UC-NRLF 


$B    ES7    flM3 


!.  v-^ 


OF  THE 

University  of  California. 

Received  iiopJi'         ,  190 $  . 

Accession  No.    8^  /  ^  /.^  .    Class  No.  §  9  '  | 

_- .<¥/7ii' 


MURRAY'S 

ENGLISH  READER: 

OR, 

FIECES  1^  PROSE  AND  POETRY^ 

SELECTED  FXtOM  TUE  BEST  WRITJa^RS. 

Diesigned  to  assist!  yoan^  persons  to  read  -mth  ipT&pri«<y  aaa 

\eSeat ;  <'6  improve  "Iheir  laivg-unge  'fm^  sentimertts;;  aiMi 

)to  listcuk^ate  «ome  o<r  ti.>e  tnotyt  i<mportant  |>-rMi- 

•ciple«  o^f  !|)iety  .aj»d  virtue. 

Wrra  a  'PEW  I>RELnVTINARY  OBSETIVATiTON'S  <DN  the  IPHlNd 
I'JuES  or  COOD  llEADLNG 

IMPROVED   iBY    THE    ADDITIO?!    OT    A 

CONCORDANT  AND  SYNONYM ISING  VOCABHLABY, 

CrOnsistln^  of  about  fifteen  hHndned  of  the  most  ikmporUM  words 
•contatued  lathis  work. 

^  Tine  words  -are  arranged  in  columns  and  placed  over  tbt 
«ections  respectively,  from  whicli  they  aie  selected^ 

ILND  Aft£ 

DIVIDED,  DEFINED,  AND  PRO.y^OUNCCD  ACCORD- 
ING TO  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF 

JOHN  WALKER. 

Hht  words  in  the  Vocabulary  and  their  correspotident  wordf  Uk 
tbc  sectioQs,  are  uuiubened  with  figures  of  refcrenco. 

WMIKER'u  PRONOUNCING  KEY,  WHICH  GOVERNS  THE  VD  ^ 
CABULARY,  !S  FKEFtXED  TO  THIS  WORK  . 


Words  ran  kavo  uo  definitive  idea  attached  to  them  wrhea  by 
It  ia  the  Bituatioxi  and  tuct  in  -a  aeutencs  wiuch  datannini  their  pvMtM 
im.— 2>r.  Johnson. 


BY  JEREMIAH  GOODRICH. 


IiOoailS   &    BRAYTOlf. 

1841 


^t$^^ 


NORTHEKN  BI^RKT  OP  KOTr-YCSlK,  TO  WIT : 

EogFORD,*  of  the  said  «?'f  ^^'^t' ^^^^^  thev  claim  as  proprietors,  in  the  worda 
vVUi  J      ^'^^'^^  ^"^  "^*    ^^.i^Mnrav's  English  Header ;  or  pieces  in 
^ittfe^    ^«"«^^'"^,^'net7v    e  ected  f'om  thelest  writers,  designed  to  as- 
^W&Ss.  P'^^'^  ^""'^  ^      In!TnrHd  with  propriety  and  effect ;  to  improve 
^HK^I^  Bist  young  persons  to  read  witn  pro        y  ^^^^  ^^'  the 

^P^^^  their  language  ^"d  «^"/;"^^,f„(eS  and^  with  a  few  pre 

^^SS^  most  important  Pf'^^'^^^^? -f^Sles  of  good  reading,  improv 

"^faf^    limlnary  "^^^/.^^J^^S^.i'i^SSg  vocabulary ;  co'-nsist.ng  of 
ed%  the  addiuon  of  aconcordant^a^^^^^^^^  .^  ,^.^  ^.,rk  - 

about  fifteen  hundred  ^/.^^^  ™?!i;"'P^d  are  placed  over  the  sections,  respec- 
The  wofds  are  arranged  in  columi»,  and  are  ^  ^^^^^^  ^^ ^  pronounced, 

lively,  from  which  they,  are  selecied    ana  are  ,^^^^^^  . ^        vocabulary 

ficcorditvgto  the  P""^^'^^' .1  in  thrsec^^^^^^^^^  are  numbered  with  figures  of 
and  their  correspoudent  ^^'^'i^^iT.fS  governs  the  vocabulary,  is  pr^- 
Reference.  Walkef'sPronouncing  Key  w^.c^  g  ^^^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^  ^^en  by 
fixed  to  this  work.    Words  can  have  no  aenm  ^^^^^^  determine  their 

Siemseives ;  it  is  ^he  ^itu^.on  and  g^^^^^^l^if^H  GOODEICH." 
4,rec.8e  meaning  ;-X)r.  ^f^^^^^'^^^  of  the  United  Slates,  «^t.tled  "  An  Act 
*  Ifl  conformity  to  the  act  of  Congress  oi  me  .^^^j.  Map8,Charts,  and 

for  the  encouragement  °f  jj^^^^'^^^^y^rof    Sfh  copies',  dum^  the  times  therein 
Books,  to  the  authours  ^^^'^'^"^,'^S  -  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act, 
T»e«tioned  ;"  and  also,  to  the  act,  emu  u       ,        •       l,v  eccuring  Ui 
Sn.W«h"Anactror,.ee^co„^ 


,  V  to  an  act, 
the  copies  of 


Wai«,  Omru.nna  """k»,  » *»  •^'*'™^  "     >^,,^g^  thearu  of  De- 


:?s^i.s'iLOT 


TO  THE 

IMPROVED  EDITION  OF  THE  ENGLISH  READER. 

An  attempt  to  improve  a  work  stamped  witli  the  name  of  the 
immortal  Murray  and  clothed  vvith  universal  j)alroiia<,'^e,  may 
be  deemed  the  height  of  presumption.  But  tlic  Author  has  aot 
handled  tlie  reader  irreverently  ;  lor  he  has  iel't  it  in  precisely 
the  same  shape  in  uliich  he  I'ound  it :  except  th'^r  a  lew  page* 
are  added  to  its  size  by  placing  a  vocabulary  over  each  section, 
giving  the  definition  and  true  pronunciation  of  the  most  im}»or- 
tant  words,  agreeably  to  the  principles  of  the  celebrated  John 
Walker.  VVaikers  orthography  is  also  given  to  the  work  for 
the  purpose  of  uniformity.  I.lr.  Murray  sa_ys.  that  the  English 
Header  is  "  (h^signed  to  assist  young  persons  to  read  with  pro- 
priety and  efiect :  and  to  improve  their  anguage  and  senti- 
ments." Toeverv  one,  who  can  read  Murray's  title  l>agc,  it  is 
evident,  that  young  persons  can  not  read  the  following  work 
with  propriety  and  elVect,  without  a  j)erlcct  knowledge  of  th« 
words  of  vvhicli  it  is  composed.  JVcither  can  tlieir  language  and 
sentiments  be  much  improved,  by  prating  over  a  N*ork,  witiiout 
1  egard  cither  to  pronunciation  or  defniition.  As  ti.erc  can  be  no 
diversity  of  opinion  on  this  point,  the  only  question  is,  what  is  the 
most  convenient  and  expeditious  method  of  acquiriifg  a  necessa- 
ry knowledge  of  words  ■*  All  will  agree,  that  ll»e  best  method 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  words,  is  to  consult  them,  as  they 
occur  in  the  writings  of  the  best  autliors.  Hut  the  drudgery  of 
looking  out  *,vonls  ni  a  full  dictionary,  (wliich  must  be  repeated 
as  often  as  the  learner  may  forget  Ihem,)  added  io  the  loss  of 
time  and  the  expense  of  having  dictionaries  lumbhd  to  pieces  in 
the  hands  of  children,  calls  loudly  for  improvement.  The  pub" 
lick  are  now  invited  to  determine,  whether  a  pronouncing  vo- 
cabidary  placed  at  the  head  of  each  section,  is  not  a  I'lore  de- 
sirable mode  of  acquisition,  than  to  ramble  over  Walker's  full 
work,  for  every  unknown  word  that  may  occur. 

By  the  aid  of  this  vocabulary,  teachers  can  furnish  their  pu- 
pils with  lessons  in  spelling,  pronunciation,  and  defniition,  to  be 
committed  to  memory,  previously  to  reading  the  sections,  from 
which  the  words  aie  selected.  The  letters  of  reference  will 
guide  the  pupil  ia  the  application  of  the  delinitions.  Thus  a 
key  is  hung  over  each  section,  inviting  the  young  reader  to  un^ 
lock  the  door,  and  view  the  treasure,  which  Mr.  Murrajf  has  pre- 
pared for  him. 

Should  any  material  errour  be  discovered  in  the  vocabulary 
by  any  one,  who  will  communicate  the  proper  corrections  to  the 
authour,  the  favour  will  be  received  with  gratitude. 


MANY  Belectioni-of  excellent  matter  have  b«en  made  for  the  bonofit  of 
youHv  pefBonw.     Porfbrm«ncos  of  this    kind  nre  of  so  proat  'itility,  thnt  frttsli 

firodiictionii  of  them,. and  new  attivniptgio  improve  the  youn^  niiml,  will  gcarc«- 
y  be  deemed  6uperfluon8,  if  the  writor  makes  liis  compilaiicn  instruct ive  and 
interentin^,  and  sutTiciently  dittinot  firum  other*. 

The  present  work,  an  tlie  title  expresses,  aims  at  the  attainro-n*  of  three  ob- 
jeots:  To  improve  youth  in  the  art  of  reading.;  to  melioruta  their  Ir.nguaee  and 
lentiments  ;  and  tO'incul6u(c  some  of  the  moi>t  importnnt  prirciples  of  piety 
indivirlue. 

The  pieces  selected,  not  only  give  cxemiue  to  a  prent  variety  of  rmotiona. 
and  ihh  corrert|>ondemt  tones  and  vHriutionri  of  voicp,  lv.j»  contsii:)  *«,Mttenc«*.H  antl 
members  of  sentences,  wfiirh  are  oivcri»ifiwI,  pri>pnrtr<>nc(!,  and  pfititdd  with 
accnrary.  Exercises  of  this  nature  are,  it  i»-  prc!ium»)d;  'v»»ll  calculpted  to  teach 
youth  to  read  with  jiropriety  and  etTect.  A  wjlcction  of  bcI^t'c",  i»' which  va- 
rivty.  and  proportion,  with  exact  pwnrtnation,  have  Wvu  carefully  obMurvvd,  iH 
all  tHoir  purts^.as  wtjil  as  with  respect  to  one  lUiother,  will  'ircbaHly  have  a  much 
greater  ctfect;  in  prtperly  teaching  the  art  of  readinfj,  than  \»  comtpouly  iiuag' 
med.  In  such  coiiiitructions,  every  lhin|;  Ik  acooniniodated  to  the  'jnderntandin^ 
and  the  voice  ;  and  the  common  difllcultic*  in  earning  to  rend  wj-il,  are  obviated 
When  tholeHrn«r  Utu  acquired  a  Kab*t  of  re.idiiur  ti\nyi\  fvulvwcs,  with  justice 
and  facility  he  wiirreadily  a{H>ly  that  habit-,  and  the  improveni^Mits  lie  has  made, 
to  sentence*  more  complicated  and  irregular,  and  of  a  construction  entirely  dif 
ferent. 

The  lanstinpe  of  the  pieccR  chopen  f4>r  this  collection,  Imih  been  carefully  r»- 
farded.  Purity,  propriety.  per«i>icuiiy,  and,  in  many  instances,  ulcgance  of  die- 
tion,  distinguish  them.  The v  are  extraHted-fr<»n«  the  works  of  the  most  correct 
and  ele;;anl  writers.  From  the  soiircex  whence  the  Mutiniento  are  drawn,  the 
reader  may  expert  to  find  tiiem  conneettK]  and  repiilHr,  suSlieiuntly  inn»orlant 
and  impressive,  and  divcxted  of  every  tiling  that  itt  either  trife-or  uccentrick. — 
The  frequent  peru.sal  ofsuch  compoHilion,  naturally  tciuln  to  intVise  a  taste  for 
this  ei>ecipR  of  excellence  ;  and  to  produce  a  habit  of  thinking  and  jf  composing, 
will)  judgment  and  accuracy.  * 

That  this  collection  may  also  serve  the  purpose  of  promo*in»  piety  and  vir- 
tue, the  Compiler  has  introduce  1  manv  nxtrac's,  which  place- rotigjon  in  the 
most  amiable- Hght ;  ami"  which  recuninicmi  a  }.'reat  variety  of  morul  duties,  by 
the  excellence  of  their  nature,  and  the  hapi»y  eiTocts  tJiey  pruxluce;     These  sub- 


*Tlie  learner,  in  hii  i»rogrc?s  thrnnjrh  this  volume  and  the  S'equol  to  It,  will 
meet  with  numerotm  instances  of  composition,  in  v'rict  conformity  to  the  roles 
for  promoting  perspicuous  and  elegant  writing,  cor.t.iined  in  the  A|.penJix  to 
the  Authour'i  English  Graoiifnar.  Ity  occasionally  oxaminintr  this  conforn«ty, 
he  will  be  confirmed  in  the  utility  of  those  rules ;  and  be- enabled  to  apply  theni 
with  ease  and  dexterity. 

Itii  proper  further  to  obscrro,  that  the  Reader  and  the  Sequel,  besides  teach- 
WZ  to  read  accurately,  and  inculcating  many  important  sentimontj?,  iiuy  b« 
coniiider'«d  as  aMxiliariei  to  the  Authour's  English  Grammar  ;  as  ^raotical  HtuP* 
tratioM-olf  tlM  Drwcipiei  aad  rules  contained  in  that  work'. 

A  2 


jWits  aio  exhibited  hi  a  st/.e  anJ  manner,  whirh  are  calcutatpd  to^aTrest  th« 
atlonlion  of  youth  ;  and  tc  make  strong  and  durable  impressions  oti  tlieir  inind«.* 

The  Compiler  lias  been  careful  to  avoid  every  exproi-sion  and  sentament  that 
Ihigiit  grai»fyacorru|>t  mind,  or  in  the  least  degree,  offend  the  eye  cf  ear  of  in- 
Eocence.  This  ho  conceives  to  be  peculiarly  incninbrsit  on  cvfiy  person,  who 
writes  forthe  beiiotlt  of  youth.  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  great  and  happy  im- 
provement in  edvicatioii,  if  no  writings  vere  allr.wcd  to  come  under  their  notice, 
but  such  as  are  perfectly  innocent ;  and  if,  on  all  i)ro()er  occasions,  they  were 
encouraged  to  peruse  those  vvhichtendtp  inspire  a  due  reverence  for  virtue,  and 
an  abh(»rrenceof  vice,  as  well  as  lo  animate 'thein  with  sentiments  of  piety  and 
goodness.  Such  impressions  deeply  engraven  on  tlfeir  minds,  and  connecl:.d. 
v/ith  all  their  attainments,  could  scurcely  fail  of  attending  thnni  through  life: 
and  of  producing  a  solidity  of  principle  and  charricfer,'il)at  woiiid  be  able  to 
resist  the  dangfu-  arising  from  future  intercouree  vvith  the  world. 

The  Aulhour  has  ehdeavoured  to  relieve  the  grave  and  Horious  parts  of  his 
collection,  by  i!ie  occasional  arii!'i?sion  of  pieces,  which  amuse  as  well  as  in- 
mruct.  If,  liowcver,  jaiy  of  his  readers  bhijuld  think  it  Contains  too  great  a 
projjortion  of  the  former,  it  may  be  sonic  apology  to  observe,  that  in  the  exist- 
ing publications  designed  for  the  perusal  of  young  jiersons,  the  preponderance 
>8  greatly  on  the  side  of  gay  and  amu^iing  productions.  Too  much  attention 
may  be  paid  to  thi^^  medium  of  improvement.  When  the  imagination,  of  youth 
especialiy,  is  murii  entertnined,  the  sober  dictates  of  the  understanding  jne  re- 
garded with  indiiference  ;  and  the  inlluence  of  good  aflecf  ions  is  either  feeble  or 
iranniient.  A  temperate  use  of  such  entertainment  seems  therefore  requisite, 
to  afford  proper  scop'C  for  the  operotions  of  the  umlerstanding  and  the  heart. 

The  reader  wdl  perceive,  that  the  Compiler  Iras  bveen  solicitous  to  recommend 
to  young  persons,  the  perusal  of  the  sacred  Scriptures,  by  interspersing  through 
his  work,  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting  passr.ges  of  those  invalu- 
able writings.  To  excite  an  early  taste  and  veneraiion  l^r  thts  great  rule  of 
life,  is  a  point  of  so  high  importance,  as  to  warrant  the  attempt  to  promote  it 
«n  every  propjr  occasion. 

To  improve  the  youn:yj^  mind  and  to  afford  some  assistance  to  tutors,  in  tho 
ardnou.;  and  importiint  Work  of  education,  were  the  motives  which  led  to  this 
pioduction.  If  the  Aurhour  should  be  so  successful  as  to  accomplish  these 
«nds,  even  in  a  small  degree,  he  will  think  that  his  time  and  pains  have  bees 
well  emp.uyed    and  will  deem  himself  amply  rewarded. 


jO  TJiBLE  or  THE  SIMPLE  jJ,Vn  niPTTIOXGJlL  VOWKLfit 
REFERRED  TO  RY  THE  FIGURES  OF  EH  THK  LETTERS 
.JV  THE  VOCjJBULARY  PLACED  BEFORE  EMCH  SEGTJOJT 
OF  Tins  WORK. 

1.  k.  The  long  slender  English  a,  as  in  f6.te,  p&,  per,  &e 

2.  k.  The  long  Italian  a,  as  in  f  &.r,  t'k  thcr,  pa  pS.,  niana  mi. 

3.  i.  The  broad  German  a,  as  in  fiU,  wAli^.  \v4  ter. 

4.  k.  Tho  short  sound  of  the  Italian  a,  as. in  fit,  mil,  mis  rjt 

1.  ^.  The  long  c,  as  in  mi,  hire,  mi  tre,  mk  diuuv 
9.  4.  The  short  e,  as  in  met  Ifit,  g^t. 

3  1.  The  long  dipthongal  e,  as  in  pine,  tl  tie. 

2.  1.  Tho  phort  simple  i,  as  in  pin,  tk  tlu. 

1.  6.  The  lonrj  open  o,  as  in  n6,  nite,  r.A  ticc. 
^.  6.  The  long  close  o,  as  in  rnSve,  prAve. 

3.  6.  Tho  long  broad  o,  as  in  nSr,  f6r,  4r :  liko  the  broad  A. 

4  6.  Tlic  short  broad  o,  as  in  n6t,  hot,  gM. 

1    h    The  long  dipthongal  «,  as  in  time,  Cii  pid. 

?..  a.  Ttie  short  snnple  /*,  as  in  tob,  cup,  sft^)^  t 

3.  tl.  The  middle  or  obtuse  u,  as  in  bftll,  full,  pulL 

W.  The  long  broad  6,  and  the  slK)rt  1,  as  in  6ll. 

^.  TliQ  lon<g'  broad  6,  and  tlwutiddlo  oUtuno  fl,  aa  in  tJiAA^  p^&ad. 


$MtVOTKUCt(On* 


«  Pro-pri-c-ty,    pro-prr-4-tA,  exclusive 
rigJit,  justness 

b  Im-por-tiiiit,    1ni-p6i'-t4nt,    momen- 
tous, weighty 

e  At-tain-ment,  ut-tinc'-mSnt,    acqni 
sition 

d  Procluc-tivo,     pri-duk'-tlv,     fertile, 
generative 

e  Es-sen-tial,   ^s-sSn'-sliAl,    necessary, 
important 

f  Mi-nute-ly,  rai-nutc'-li,  exacly 

g  In-ac-cu-ratu,  In-ik'-ku-rite,  not  ex- 
act 

h  Con-cep-tion,    k6n-sSp'-sh5n,    preg 
nancy,  idea 
Re  suit,  r4-z61t',  to  follow  as  a  conse- 
quonco 

j  As-cer-tuin,  is-sSr-tinc',  to  makoccr 
tain 

k  Ac-f|uire,  &k-kwlre',  to  gain  By  la 
bour  or  power 

/  Fa-eil-i-ty,  f  4-s!l'-^-t6,  easiness,  dex- 
terity 

m  Con-sti-tutc,   kun'-sti-tiito,    to  pro- 
duce, Rpi)otnt 

n  Com-pen-sa-tion,   k6m-p?n-84'-Bljun 
recomjjence 

•  Pleas-ure,  pl5zli'-ure,  delight,  appro- 
bation 

p  Com-niu-ni-ca-tion,   k6m-m6-n^-k4'- 


shnn,  liio  act  of  imparting" 
<7  Au-di-eijce,  iw'-ji-Snse,  the  act  of 

hearing,  persons;  collc^cted  4o  hear 
r  Dotibt-iess.    ddiit'-W»,    unquesUonft- 

biy 
jf  Ex-tra-or-di-na-ry,  ^ks-trdr'-di-nAr-A, 

eminent,  unusual 
t  Ex-cel-lence,  gk'-s21-lSnso,   state    qT 

excelling,  eminence 
u  Art,  Art,  science,  skill 
V  Am-ply,  ftui'-pl^,  largely,  liberally 
ID  Ke-ward,  re-wArd',  areconipenso,  tp 

recompense,  to'repay 
z  Ex-er-tion,  ^gz-2r'-6bfin,  tlie  act  of 

exerting,  eftbrt 
y  Ncc-es-sar-y,  nSs'-sia-sSr-ri,  needful, 

requisite 
:  Pause,  p^z,  a  stop,  suspense 
a  Enj-pha*;ji8,  2m'-fi-sls,  a  remarkable 

stress  luidujjon  a  word, 
b  At-lain-a-ble,  4t-l4no'-4-bI,  thatm^jf 

be  obtained 
c  Im-i-ta-tivc,  hn'-i-ti-tlv,  inclined  to 

copy 
d  Ut-ter-anco,  St'-tAr-Atise,  proouucia* 

tion 
Aocu-rate,  ^k'-kA-rite,  exact,  with- 
out defect 
/  Coni-prise,  k6m-prlze',  to  contxiiii, 

include 


OBSERVATIONS  OJf  THE  PRmCIPLES  OF  GOOD 
READmG, 


TO  read  with  propriety <»  is  a  pleasing  and  important^  attainr 
j^cnt  '.<!  productive''  of  improvement  both  to  tho  understanding,  and 
Uie  heart.  It  is  essential^  to  a  complete  reader,  that  he  mmutel)/ 
perceive  the  ideas,  and  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  author,  whose 
sentiments  he  professes  to  repeat  :  for  how  is  it  possible  to  repre- 
sent clearly  to  others,  what  we  have  but  faint  or  inaccurate*  con- 
ceptions* of  ourselves  ?  If  there  were  no  other  benefits  resulting^ 
from  the  art  of  reading  well,  than  the  necessity  it  lays  us  under, 
of  precisely  ascertaining''  the  meaning  of  what  W6  read  >  and  tb& 

NOTE. — For  many  of  the  obscrvaticns  contained  In  this  preTiminarr  trtict, 
the  autiior  is  indebted  to  tlie  writings  of  Dr.  Blaii,  and  to  the  £ney«losndiA 

Britannica. 


%al}ift  dience  a«quired,*  of  doing  this  with  facility,'  both  wh«n  r^a^ 
tug  silently  and  aloud,  they  would  constitute"  a  sufficient!  compenr 
sation."  &r  all  the  laboux  we  can  bestow  u>pon  the  subject.  Bui 
rt»e  pliBBtsujrco  deriv€d  to  ourselves  and  othersr  from  a  clean  eomrni*- 
nicatiiorU'  of  ideas  and  feelings ;  and  the  strong  and  durable  iiw 
pressions  made  thereby  on  the  miiids  of  the  reader  and  the  audi^ 
ence,?  are  considerations,  which  give  additional  importance  to  that 
study  ©f  this  necessary  and  useful  art.  The  perfect  attainment  of 
It  doubtless'*  requires  great  attention  and  practice,  joined  to  extra- 
ordinary' natural  powers  :  but  as  there  are  many  degrees  of  excel- 
lence* in  the  art,"  the  stwident  whose  aims  fell  short  of  perfectioin 
will  fi'nd^  himself  amply"  rewarded"'  for  every  exertion*  he  may 
think  proper  to  make. 

To  give  rules  for  tb«  management  of  the  voice  m  reading,  bj 
which  the  necessary^  pauses,'  emphasis,^  and  tones,  may  be  discov- 
ered and  put  in.  piactiee,  is  not  possible.  After  all  the  direction* 
that  can  be  offered  on  these  points,  much  will  remain  to  be  taxight 
by  the  living  instructor :  much  will  be  attainable^  by  no  other 
means,  than  the  force  of  example  influencing  the  imitative^  power* 
©f  the  karnef.  Some  rules  and  principles  on  these  hea^,  will» 
however,  be  foynd  useful,  to.  prevent  erroneous  and  vicious  mode* 
of  utterance  ;<<  to  give  the  young  reader  some  taste  of  the  subject; 
ajid  to  assist  him  in  acquiring  a  just  and  accurate*  mode  of  delive- 
ry. The-  observations  which  we  have  to  make,  for  these  purposes^ 
may  be  comprised/ under  the  following  heads  :  proper  loudnes» 

•F   VOICE  ;    DISTINCTNESS  ;    SLOWNESS  ;   PROPRIETY  OF  PRONUNCU- 

TiOK  ;  sjf PHASis  ;  TOKKs^;;  PAUSES  ;  and  iviode  of  reading  vebss^ 


SECTION  r. 


A  Eh  deftv-our,  2n  dSv'-fir,  to  labour  to 

a  certain  purpose 
ft  Oc-cu-py,  ifk'-ki  pi,  to  possess,  em- 

e  Tal-ent,  til'-Snt,  faculty,  power 

d  A«-«ia-tance,  4s-sU'-t4ose,  help,  fur- 
Uieraeco 

e  Mao-age-ment,  mSji'-Tdjo-ro5nt,  con 
duct,  administtatiun 

/  Ap^proach,  ip-pr6tsh\  to  draw  n,eaa- 

f  CoQ-found,  k6a-fd&nd'^  to    roin^l^^ 
p#rplex 

A  Va-ri-e-ty,  yl-rl'-4-t4,  cbaoge>  diver- 
sity 

i  B«n-der,  rSn'-d&r,  to  restore^  translate, 
make 
Ptf-M-veM,,  pSM^y^re',  to  peraist  i» 


an  attempt 

A:  Or-di-nft-ry,  5r'-d^-ni-ri,  commoRt 
usual 

I  Trans-gress,  trAns-gr^s',  to  violate,  to 
pass  over,  offend 

m  Ve-he-ment,  vi'-h^-m8»t,'[ forcible^ 
ardent 

n  El-e-va-tion,.  ^I-i-YV-sh5n,  exalta- 
tion, dignity 

0  De-press-ion,  di'pr&h'-fln,  the  act^of 
pressing  down 

y,  Har-mo-ny,  h&r'-m6-n&,  j.ust  propor- 
tion, concord 

q  Mo-ijot-o-ny,  mA-n6t'-t6-n6,  want  of 
variety  m  cadence 

r  Req-ui--site,  r4k'-wi-zlt,,  BcceMai]r, 
any  thing  necessary 


^JtOPER   LOUDNESS   OF  VOICE, 

Tub  ftrit  aiteDlioa  of  every  person  who  reads  lo,  elhert,  doubt 


nrmoDucTioi^  is 

finSf  must'  bar,* to  make  Irimsclf  he  heard  by  a^  thoso  to  whom  h^- 
reads.  He  musi  endeavour"  to  fill  witli  liw  voko  the  space  occiipi* 
•"d^  by  t^o  com|,>any.  This  power  of  voice,  it  may  ba  tliought,  is 
tvliwlly  tt  natural  talent/  It  isrin  a  good  measure,  the  gift  e»f  ub^ 
tttte;  but'it  muy  receive  considerable  assistaiice'^  from  art.  Much 
depends,  hr  Xhh  purpose,  on  the  pro])cr  pitclv  and  management*  of 
the  voice.  Every  person  has  three  pitches  in  his  voi#!e  ;  the  high 
the  MiDi>tK,  and  the  i.ow  one.  The  higli,  is  that  which  he  uses  in 
i.alling  aloud  to  so'me  person  at  a  distance.  I'hc  low,  is  when  he 
approaches/  to  a  whisper.  The  middle  is,  that  which  he  employs 
Ml  common  conversation,  ami  which  he'  should  generally  use  in 
leading  to  others.  For  it  is  a  great  mi?;takc»  to  invlginc  that  one 
must  take  tbe  hij^licst  pitt:h  of  his  voice,  in  order  to  be  well  heard  in 
K  large  company.  This  is  confoundingA'  two  tilings  whicii  are  eiif- 
/crent,  loudness,  or  strength  of  sound,  with  the  key  or  note  in  which 
we  speak.  There  is  a  variety^  of  sounrl  witliin  the  compass  of 
«  ach  key.  A  speaker  way  t;herefore  render' his  voice  louder,  with- 
out altering  the  key:  and  we  shall  always  be  ai)le  to  give  most 
l»ody,  most  persevering^'  force  of  sound,  to  that  pitch  of  voice,  to 
\vhich  in  conversation  we  are  accustomed.  Whereas  by  selling 
<iut  on  our  highest  pitch  or  key,  we  certainly  allow  ourselves  less 
jxjmpass,  and  are  likely  to  strain  our  voice  before  we  have  done. 
We  shall  fatigue  ourselves,  and  read  with  pain  ;  and  whenever  a  per- 
son speaks  with  pain  to  hiwiself,  he  is  always  heard  with  ])ain  by 
his  audience.  Let  us  therefore  give  the  voice  fidl  strength  and 
swell  of  sound  ;  but  always  pitch  it  on  our  ordinary*  speaking  key. 
It  shtuld  be  a  constant  rule  never  to  utter  a  greater  quantity  of 
voice  than  we  can  afford  without  pain  to  ourselves,  and  without  any 
extraordinary  eftbit.  As  long  as  we  keep  within  these  bounds,  the 
other  organs  of  speech  will  be  at  liberty  to  discharge  their  several 
offices  with  ease  ;  and  we  shall  always  have  our  voice  under  com- 
mand. But  whenever  we  transgress'  these  bounds,  we  give  np  the 
reins,  and  have  no  longer  any  management  of  it.  It  is  a  useful  rule 
too,  in  order  to  be  well  heard,  to  cast  our  eye  on  some  of  the  most 
distant  persons  in  the  company,  and  to  consider  ourselves  as  read- 
ing to  them.  We  naturally  and  mechanically  utter  our  words  with 
such  a  degree  of  strength,  as  to  make  ourselves  be  heard  by  the  per- 
son whom  we  address,  provided  he  is  within  the  reach  of  our  voice. 
As  this  is  the  case  in  conversation,  it  will  hold  also  in  reading  to 
others.  But  let  us  remember,  that  in  reading,  as  well  as  in  corwcr- 
sation,  it  is  possible  to  offend  by  s])caking  too  loud.  This  extreme 
hurts  the  ear,  by  making  the  voice  come  upon  it  in  rumbling,  indis- 
tinct masses. 

By  the  habit  of  readings  when  young,  in  a  loud  and  vehement* 
manner,  the  voice  becomes  fixed  in  a  strained  and  unnatural  key  ; 
and  is  rendered  incapable  of  that  variety  of  elevaition"  and  dcpre?- 
tion^  whicJh  constitutes  the  true  harmony''  of  uecemnoo,  awd"  anordt 


*X  INTRODUCTIO:i. 

case  to  the  render,  nnd  ploasiiro  to  the  aiuIieDce.  This  unnatural 
pitch  of  the  voice,  and  disagreeable  nHmntony^,'?  are  most  observa- 
ble in  persons  who  were  taught  to  read  in  large  roonii? ;  who  were 
accustomed  to  stand  at  too  great  a  distance,  when  reading  to  their 
teachers;  whose  instructors  were  very  imperfect  in  their  liearing;. 
or  who  were  taught  by  persons,  that  cons'idered  loud  expression  as 
the  chief  requisite'*  in  formiu;^' a  good  readei't.  Tiiese  are  circum- 
stances which  demand  the  serious  attention  lof  every  one  to  whom 
the  education  of  youth  is  conmvttted. 


SECTION  II. 

a  Ar-tic-u-la-tioh,        ?ir-t!k-ii-li'-shun,|c  El-e-mon-tartTV,  ?l-^-m?n'-t5r-i,  sim- 


joint  of  bones,  tlic   act  of  forming 
words 

b  Ct)n-tril4-ute,  kon-ti!b'-ute,  to  give  to, 
bear  a  part 


pie,  uncoiiipounded 
/  In-cuin-hent,  j'n-kiim'-bSnt,  imposed' 
as  a  duly 
Pil-nia-ry,  }-.r!'-m4-r^,  original,  chief: 


e  Slur,  slftr,  to  pass  lightly,  a  slight  dis-U&ns-pcnd,  s°i8-pSnd',  to  dblay,  inter- 
grace        ^  I        rupt,  ht^jg 
d  Sup-press,  sfip-prSs'jto  crush,  conccalj 

Distinctness. 

In  thi^  next  place,  to  being  well  heard  and  clearly  understood, 
distinctness  of  articulation"  contributes'' more  than  mere  loudness  of 
smmd.  The  quantity  of  sound  necessary  to  fi'll  even  a  large  space, 
is  smaller  than  is  commonly  imagined  ;  and  with  distinct  articula- 
tion, a  person  witii  a  weak  voico  will  make  it  reach  farther,  than 
the  strongest  voice  can  reach  vi'ithout  it.  To  this,  therefore,  every 
reader  ought  to  pay  great  attention.  He  must  give  every  sound 
which  he  utters,  it>;  due  proportion  ;  and  make  every  syllable,  and 
even  every  letter  in  the  word  which  he  pronounces,  be  heard  dis- 
tinctly; without  slurring,"^  whispering^  or  suppressing'^  any  of  the 
proper  sounds. 

An  accurate  knowledge  of  the  simple,  elementary*  sounds  of  the 
language,  and  a  facility  in  expressing  thom,  are  so  necessary  to  dis-- 
tinctness  of  expression,  that  if  the  learner's  attainments  are,  in  this- 
respect,  imperfect,  (and  many  there  are  in  this  situation)  it  will  be- 
incunibcnt/  on  his  teacher,  to  carry  him  back  to  these  primaiys'  ar- 
ticulations ;  and  to  suspend^'  his  progress,  till  he  become  perfectly^ 
master  of  them.  It  wiU  be  in  vatn  to  press  liini  forward,  with  the 
hope  of  forming  a  good  readier,  if  he  cannot  completely  articulate 
every  elementary  sound  of  the  language. 

SECTION  III. 
a  Prc-cip-i-tan-cy,      pri-£!p'-p^-ijin-s^,ji  Rec  om-iripnd,    r5k-k6oi-ni5nd',    to 

rahness,  hastu  J         pr.ii>;e  to  another 

b  Ob-vi-oufi,  6b'-v^-ris,  cpnn,  evident    \c  Pro-iiiin-ci-a-tion,       pr6-nfin-eh4-i'-- 
c  lu-sip-id,  ln-f.!p'-ld,  witljoutspirit       |        sh&u,  mode  of  uttermiea 


INTRODUCTION. 


DUE   DEGREE   OF   BLOWKEfi9. 


Fn  order  to  express  ourselves  distinctly,  moderation  is  requisite 
v'llh  regnrd  to  llio  speed  of  pionoiiiicing.  Piccipitancy<'  of  speech^ 
confounds  all  articulation,  and  all  meaning.  It  is  scarcely  nccodsft- 
ry  to  observe,  tliat  there  may  be  aho  an  ext-eme  on  tlie  o]^i)osit^ 
side.  It  is  obvious*  that  a  lifeless,  drawling  manner  of  reading,- 
which  allows  the  minds  of  the  hearers  to  be  always  outrunning, 
the  speaker,  must  render  every  such  perform?nce  insipitl'"  and  fa- 
tiguing. But  tlie  extreme  of  readitig  too- fast  is  much  more  common, 
and  recpiires  the  more  to  be  guarded  against,  because,  when  it  has 
grown  into  a  habit,  few  errors  are  more  diflicult  to  be  corrected.  To 
pronounce  with  a  proper  degree  of  slowness,  auil  with  full  ami" 
clear  articulation  is  necessary  to  be  studied  by  all,  who  wish  to  be- 
come good  readers;  and  it  caimot'be  too  much  recommeu'led'' to 
them.  Sucii  a  pronunciation*  gives  weight  and  dignity  to  tlie  sub- 
ject. It  is  a  great  assistance  to  tlie  voice,  by  the  ])ause3  and  rests 
which  it  allows  the  reader  more  easily  to  make  ;  and  it  enables  the 
reader  to  swel'  all  his  sounds,  both  wkh  moie  foicy  aud'  more  har-^ 
mony. 


SECTiaN  V. 


a  Fun-da-mcn-tal,  fSn-dA-men'-ial, 
serving  for  the  foninl:ition 

b  Ap-prD-pri-ttte,  ip-pr6'-pri-ile,  to 
coiiftiga  to  a  particular  use,  tit,  pro- 
per , 

e  Pro-vin-cial,  pr6-vln'-6h4!,  relating  to 
a  province 

d  In-lel-li-gi-Hy,  In-t^l'-l^-j^-bli,  clear- 
ly, so  as  to  be  uritlerstood 

e  Con-sist,  k6n-slst',  to  be  composed  of, 


subdist 
/  G'f-ni-ugj  je'-ni-fjg,  nature,   disposi* 

tion,  I'nculticti 
rr  Pcr-cuB  Bion,  j)5r-kfiKh'-fin,  a  iiroke 
Ji  So-lcm-jii-ty,  »A-l^in'-«i-ii,-.gravityj 

awful  grandeur 
/  En-er-^',  fen-fir  j6,  force,  rigour 
j  Im-prw-sion,    Ini-prfish'-Sii,    stainpi 

ima^e  in  tbs  niinU 


PROPRIETY    OF   PRONUNCIATION. 

After  the  fundamental'*  .attentions  to  the  pitch  and  manage- 
ment of  the  voice,  to  distinct  articulation,  and  to  a  proper  degree 
of  slowness  of  speech,  what  the  young  reader  must,  in  the  next 
place,  study,  is  propriety  of  pronunciation  ;  or  giving  to  every  word 
which  he  utters,  that  sound  whicii  the  best  usage  of  language  ap- 
propriates* to  it :  in  opposition  to  broad,  vulgar,  or  provincial*'  pro- 
nunciation. This  is  requisite  both  for  reading  intelligibly ,<^  and  for 
reading  with  correctness  and  ease.  Ini;tructions  concerning  this^ 
article  may  be  best  given  by  the  living  teacher.  But  there  is  one- 
observation,  which  it  may  not  be  improper  here  to  make.  In  the' 
English  language,  every  word  which  consists*  of  more  syllables  than, 
one,  has  one  accented  syllable.  The  accents  rest  sonietimes  on  tlie- 
vowel,  sometimes  on  the  consonant.  The  geniur<./'of  the  language  i4 
quires  the  voice  to  mark  that  syllable  by  a  stronger  percussion,^  aj»d  to 
pass  more  slightly  ov  cr  tixj  rest.    Now*, after  we  have  ioa rned  the  prope*  . 


kH 


rNTRODUCTION. 


I  of  these  accents,  it  is  an  important  rule,  to  give  every  word  }mf, 
the  same  accent  in  loading,  as  \n  common  discourse.  Many  p(*f-. 
torn  err  in  this  respect.  Wiien  they  read  to  others,  and  with  soleuv 
pity,^  they  pronounce  the  syllables  in  a  differept  manner  from  what 
they  do  at  other  times.  They  dwell  upon  them  and  protract  them ; 
tliey  multiply  accents  on  the  sgime  word  ;  from  a  mibtake»  notio.n , 
that  it  gives  gravity  and  importance  to  their  subject,  and  adds  to 
the  energy' of  their  delivery.  Whereas  this  is  one  of  the  greatf^ss 
faulty  that  can  be  committed  in  pronunciation  :  it  makes  what  is 
called  a  pompous  or  mouthing  manner  ;  and  gives  an  artificial,  af 
fected  air,  to  reading,  which  detracts  greatly  bqth  from  its  agreea  - 
bleness  and  its  impression. 

Sheridan  apd  Walker  have  publiiibed  Dictionaries,  for  ascertain 
ing  the  true  and  best  pronunciation  of  the  words  of  our  language  , 
By  attentively  consulting  them,  particularly  '^  W?llkftr's  Pronounc  • 
big  Dictionary,"  the  young  reader  will  be  much  assisted,  in  his  en  • 
deavours  to  attain  a  correct  pronunciation  of  the  words  bclongii»j^ 
to  the  English  languftge^ 


•  Ain-bif-u^oui,  &m-bTg''U-&j>,   doubt 

ful,  having  two  moanings 

I  Per-vert,  p5r-vgrt',  to  distort,  cor- 
rupt 

i  Pre-sqp-poso,  pri-sfip-pizo',  to  sup- 
pose as  previous 

4  Ex-em-pli-fy,  ggi4m'-pU-fl,  to  illus 
trate  by  example 

e  Mose,  mfeze,  power  of  poetry,  to 
ponder,  deep  tbouglit,  close  attcn 
tion,  absence  of  mind 

/  No-to-ri-ou8,  nA-ti'-rl-?i«,  publickK- 
koown 

/  €Jon-«e-qcence,  k6n'-si-kw^nse,  that 
which  follows  from  a  cause 

k  n-Iua-trate,  ll-lfis'-tri^te,  to  explain 

i  A-  pol«o-gy,ft.-pir-A-j*,defence,excuse 

J  C«a-«ur©,»in'-8h6re,  blume,  reproacli 
to  rcpM)ach 

k  Ez-ag-ge-rate»  igz-4djo'-i-r&te,  to 
enlarge 

I  8e-)6et,  s^-lftkt',  to  choose  from, 
nicely  ebosen 

•iBcra-ple,  skrdd'-pl,  to  doubt,  n  doubf 

n  Mod-u-la  tion,    mod-dit-l^'-eiiuo, 
gresable  harmony 

•  Di-ver-si-ty,  Ui-v^r'-sA-ti,  dinereiyjo, 

variotf 


SECTION    IV. 

p  Re-strain,  ri-RtrAnc',to  rcprefl6,hin^  >r 
.7  Ar-bi-trn-ry,  ir'-b^-tr4-ri,  deepotic  I 

cnpricions 
r  Ca-price,  kA-pr^^sc',  freak,  whinn 
.<r  Di-min-ifch,  de-m!u'-lsb,  to  lessen,  df 

grade 
De-sire,  d^-zlrc',   to  wish  to  obttdr 

a  wish 
u  ]Mo.>(-i-can,    meks'-i-k&n,  of  or   bf 

longing  to  Mexico 
M  Com-pre-hcn-sivc,   k6m-prA-h5n'-sI'. 

containing  much 
in  Ex-i)Os-tu-la-tion,      4ks-p6s-t6h6-lS 

shfin,  debate,  remonstrance 
I  Mu-ta-ble,     mu'-ti-bl,,      subject    \  0 

change 
y  De-mon-stro.-b!e,  di-m6n'-8trA-bl,c«r' 

t.ain,  that  which  nauy  be  proved  b  y 

ytnui  a  donbt 
z  Plau-si  bil-i-ty,  pl^w-zi-b^Vi-tijgja 

cioufc.tess 
a  Prolva-bil-i-ty,  prftb  A-hll'-i-ti,  HI  a 

lihood 
b  In-dis-crim-i-aate-Jy,     tn-dl^-krlm'  ♦• 

nA.ioli,  without  distinction 
c  Ro-cur,  r^-kur,  to  have  recourse  to,'o 

return 
d  I  tal-ickj  J-t4I'-1k,  relating  to  Italy 


EMPHASIS. 

Bv  emphasis  is  meant  a  stronger  and  fuller  sound  of  voice,  If 
which  w  distinguish  some  word  or  words,  on  which  we  design  \». 


IMTKODVCnOK.  XVI 

laf  particular  stress,  and  to  show  how  itxej  .ifivct  the  rt»«^t  of  iha 
sentenco.  Sometlmos  the  emplmiic  words  wust  be  clktiiigulshed  by 
A  pamcviiar  lone  of  voice,  ns  well  nn  by  a  particular  stioss.  Oji 
die  right  mamigeinent  of  the  emphasis  cicpeudsj  the  life  of  pronuit* 
ciation.  If  no  emphasis  be  placed  on^any  word*,  not  only  is  cTis- 
coursc  rendered  heavy  and  liieless,  but  llic  mcauifig  left  often  am- 
biguous.* If  the  emj)hasis  be  placed  wrong,  we  pervert*  aud  con- 
found the  meaning  wholly. 

Emphasis  m^iy  be  divided  tf>to  the  Superior  awl  the  Tnferieyr  em- 
phasis.  The  superior  emphasis  determines  the  n\eaiii|)g  of  a  sen- 
tence, with  reference  to  something  said  before,  prcsuikp^iscd*"  by  the 
author  as  p^eneral  knowledge,  or  removes  an.  ambjgiuty,  where  a 
passage  may  have  more  senses  than  one.  Tlie  inferior  cinpUasia. 
enforces^  graces^  and  enlivens^  but  dors  not^/i.r,  the  meaning  of  any 
passage.  T^e  words  to  which  this  latter  cinphaw*;  ks  jiivf^n^  are,  in 
general,  such  as  seem  tlwj  most  important  in  the  ?<t*wtp))ce,  or  ©ri 
other  accounts,  to  m»»rit  this  distinction.  The  foljbvv^ng  passage 
wiH  serve  to  exempJify^  the  superior  emphasis. 

"  Of  mnn's  first  disohrdicnco,  nnd  the  fruit 

*'  Of  thai  forbidden  Irpc,  whpsc  mort;<I  tosfa 

>>  Bro»i«jht*denth  intotho  world,  w>*l  alt  pur  «*<♦,*'  &o. 

"Sing  licuvcnly  Musol"' 

Supposing  that  originally  other  brings,  besides  men,  hgd  disobey- 
ed tho  commands  of  the  Almighty,  and  that  the  circumstance  were 
well  known  to  us,  there  would  full  an  emphasis  upon  the  word  nutn* 
in  the  first  Hue ;  aiul  hc»oo  it  would  read  thus : 

*'  Of  man's  first  disobodiencc,  and  tl»e  fruit,  Scf/ 

Bo»  if  it  Tv^re  a  '7Dtprious/  truth,  that  manVuKJ  had  transgre^^d 
in  a  |KJruIiar  maivjier  more  than  once,  the  erwpiiasis  wo*dd  iall  on 
first;  anxl  the  line  be  re^td, 

''  Of  vnfkfi'afrst  disobedience,'*  &p. 

Again,  admitting  death  (as  was  re?>Uy  tlje  case)  to  have  been  an 
unheard  of  and  dreadful  punishment,  brought  upon  man  in  conse- 
quence^ of  his  traijsgressicja ;  o»  t^)al  supposition  tU,  third  line 
would  be  read, 

I  "  Brought  death  into  the  world,*'  &c. 

But  If  we  were  to  suppose  that  mankind  knew  there  was  such  an 
'  tvil  as  death  in  other  regions,  though  the  place  th»  y  inhabited  had 
be«n  fr«8  from  it  till  their  transgression,  the  line  av  ould  run  thu8  : 

"  praujri)t  death  into  the  tcprld,'*  k» 

B 


^  mriioDucfTioM. 

The  superior  eitiphasis  finds  a  place  in  the  following  short  gen- 
tence,  which  admits  of  four  distinct  meanings,  each  of  which  is  as* 
Gtxrtained  by  tlie  emphasis  only. 

"  Do  you  fide  to  town  to  day." 

The  following  examples  illustrate^'  the  nature  and  use  of  the  in- 
ferior emphasis  : 

"  Many  persons  mistake  the  love  for  the  practice  of  virtue." 

"  Shall  1  reward  his  services  with  falsehood  ?  Shall  1  forget  him% 
who  cann6t  forget  tne  .^" 

"  If  his  principles  are  false^  no  apology*  from  himself  z-^w  make 
them  righl :  '\i  founded  in  truth,  no  censure/  from  otiwrs  can  make 
them  wrongP 

"  Though  dcrip^  yet  clear ;  though  g-cvtlc,  yet  not  dull; 
"  Strong  v.'illiout  rfl^e ;  wjlhoiit  o^ crjlowing ,  full.''^ 

•*  A  friend  exaggerates'^  a  man's  virtues ;  an  enemy  his  crimesJ*^ 

"  The  wise  man  is  happy,  when  he  gains  his  01171  approbation  ; 
the/o'j/,  wl)en  he  gains  that  of  others.''^ 

The  superior  emphasis,  in  reading  as  in  speaking,  must  be  deter- 
•  mined  entirely  by  the  -seiise  of  the  passage,  and  always  made  alike: 
but  as  to  the  inferior  emphasis,  taste  alone  seems  to  have  the  right  of 
fixing  its  situation  and  quantity. 

Among  the  number  of  persons,  who  have  had  proper  opportuni- 
ties of  learning  to  read,  in  the  best  manner  it  is  now  taught,  very 
few  could  be  selected,'  who,  in  a  given  instance,  would  use  the 
inferior  emphasis  alike,  either  as  to  a  place  or  quantity.  Some 
persons,  indeed,  use  scarcely  any  degree  of  it :  and  others  do  not 
scruple"*  to  carry  it  far  beyond  any  thing  to  be  found  iv  common 
discourse  ;  and  even  sometimes  throw  it  upon  words  so  very  trifling 
m  themselves,  that  it  is  evidently  done  with  no  other  view,  than  to 
give  greater  variety  to  the  modidation."'^  Notwithstanding  this  di- 
versity" of  practice,  there  are  certainly  proper  boundaries,  within 
which  this  emphasis  must  be  restrained,^  in  order  to  make  it  meet 
the  approbation  of  sound  judgment  and  correct  taste.  It  will  doubt- 
less have  different  degrees  of  exertion,  according  to  the  greater  or 
1p»3  degrees  of  importance  of  the  words  upon  which  it  operates  ;  and 
there  may  be  v?w/  prrperly  some  variety  in  the  use  of  it ;  but  its 
apjilication  is  not  arbitrary,'/  depending  on  the  caprice  of  readers. 

As  emphasis  often  falls  on  words  in  different  parts  of  the  same 
601  tence,  so  it  is  frequently  required  to  be  continued  with  a  little 

*  By  modulation  is  meant  that  ulcnsing  variety  of  voice,  which  is  perceived 
in  uttering  u  sentence,  and  uliicn,  in  its  nature,  is  perfectly  distinct  from  en^ 
lihatis,  and  tJie  tones  of  emotion  and  of  passion.  Tlio  young  reader  Rhould  b« 
<"arefuJ  to  render  his  modulation  correct  and  easy ;  for  this  purpose,  ehould  ibnB 
k  ui>on  tiie  model  of  the  most  judicious  and  accurate  speakers. 


INTRODUCTION.  XW 

0 

wiriarion,  on  tw<^.  and  son^twnos  more  wonk  t<igetber.  The  follow- 
Ing  sentences  exemplify  both  the  parts  of  this  position ;  ^''  if  yot: 
geek  to  make  oue  rich^  study  not  to  increase  his  stores^  but  to  dir 
viinish  Ids  desires.^'*  "  Tlie  Mexican'*  figures,  or  pictwe  writing, 
ieprescnt  things,  not  words  :  tiicy  exhibit  iimiges  lo  L'^e  eye,  not 
tdecLs  lo  the  umkrslandingy 

Some  sentences  are  so  full  an:l  comprehen?ive,"  tliat;  almost  eve- 
ry word  is  einpliatical ;  as,  ""  Ye  hills  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  woods, 
and  plains  !"  or,  as  that  pathetic  expostalationw  in  tile  prophecy  of 
Ezckiel,  "  Why  will  ye  die  I" 

Emphasis,  besides  its  other  offices,  is  the  great  regulator  of  quan- 
tity. Though  the  quantity  of  our  syllables  is  fixed,  in  wo»ds  sepa- 
lately  pronounced,  yet  it  is  mutable,-*-'  when  thise  words  are  arrang- 
ed in  sentences:  the  long  being  changed  into  vcbrt,  the  short  into 
long,  according  to  tlie  importance  of  the  word  with  regard  to  mean- 
ing. Emphasis  also,  in  jjarticrlar  cases,  alters  liie  seat  of  the  accent. 
This  is  demonstrable^  fiom  the  following  examples.  "  He  shalltn- 
crease,  but  I  shall  decrease.*'  "  There  is  a  dift'i-rence  between  giv- 
ing and  /orgiving."  "  In  this  si)ccies  of  composition,  ;>/a?wibility=  ij 
much  more  essential  than  -p robpihWiVf  y"  In  these  examples  the  em- 
Dhaaia  requires  the  accent  to  be  placed  on  syllables,  to  whicii  it  does 
not  commonly  belong. 

ill  order  to  acquiie  the  proper  management  of  the  emphasis,  tho 
great  rule  to  be  given,  is,  that  the  reader  study  to  attairr.a  just  con- 
ception of  the  force  and  spi.it  of  the  sentiments  whicli  he  is  to  pio- 
nounctt.  For  to  lay  the  emphasis  with  exact  propriety,  is  a  con- 
stant exercise  of  good  sense  and  atten.tion.  It  is  far  from  being  an 
inconsiderable  attainment.  It  is.  one  of  the  most  decisive  trials  of  a 
true  and  just  taste ;  and  must  arise  fiOm  feeli'/i-:;  delicately  our- 
selves, and  from  judging  accurately  of  what  is  filte^t  to  strike  tho 
feelings  o^"  others. 

There  is  one  error,  against  which  it  is  particularly  proper  to  cau- 
tion the  learner  ;  namely,  that  of  multiplying  emphatical  words  too 
much,  and  using  the  emphasis  indiscriminately''.  It  is  only  by  a 
prudent  reserve  and  distinction  in  the  use  of  thcm^  that  wacan  give 
them  any  weight.  If  they  recur*  too  often  ;  if  a  reader  attempts  to 
render  every  thing  he  expresses  of  higli  itnpoitance,  by  a  multitude 
.  cf  strong  emphasis,  we  soon  karn  to  pay  little  regard  to  them.  To 
crowd  every  sentence  with  emphaticul  wends,  is  like  crowding  all 
the  pages  oi  a  book  with  Italic^  characters ;.  which,  as  lo  tlio  effect, 
is  just  the  same  as  to  use  uo  such  distinctions  at  all. 


SECTION  VI. 

a  In-flcc-tion,*  !n-{}&k'-3ht'n,tho  act  off i  re-cii-li-nr-ly,     pi-ku'-le-fir-I^,    par 


bcndin!,',  modulation  of  voico,  va- 
riation of  a  noun  or  verb 
See  the  note  mi  tk&  tcxZ. 


ticularly,  otUlly 
e  Ag-i-ta-tion,  Aj-^-t^i'-shao,  parturba 
tiou  discussiou 


knenwl  iMSa^    It  if  cUeif  ki  *»  pnpOT  ■■»  •#  %c»  tm^  tkat 
<»  fife,  apirit,  bemiiiy,  — d  Imum^p  rfrf 
Tkt  finite  of  dis' 

ttoQS.  We  Aatt,  hofnM»»  <>itrt  — ^  litkfc  is< 
beautUiil  lajneataitJOB  of  David  over  Saal  aad  i 
viD,  in  «one  dime,  f  hirktilt  >  nhatt  h—  fcee>  wad  —  itm  Mbji  ii, 
"The  beaotf  flf  fand  l»4uB«ie»%^kigPb  places ;  koer «e ike 
ng^y  frlle«!TellltMiimG«ik;Mbfab  it  ■•(  ia  tke  liraeto  el 
Aakelon;factheifiiit^iliiirfl^FlBii<fciiiiiijiiiii  ;lMtt>eihinlb 
tea  of^fae  aick ■iiwiiii  il  tmnqib.  Ye  wntauH  ef  GiAsc,  kt 
there ke  ae dew  aeriein  epea  yew^aer ielA  ef  efcrky ; fcr  dmn 
thediaeldortke  Mif^wMTadjAaMtmwaT;  *e  ilMd  eT  Saal» 
MtitoMghfce  hadaocteqiM".l*"^^^M^.og-   .  ~ 


jet  I 

Tliecerrect  3 
cuk  to  be  attaiaed,  ae  awit  readers  tecai  la  inefpae.  If  we « 
into  t^e  i|iirit  of  the  aathv*!  leiitiaients,  as  vcD  as  iaiellw  1 
of  hiiWBwl^  waihaBaocfcatedaifeUbe  werdbiapropetlyvafii< 
tooes.  ForihTeareiBwpeopleyathD^sakFa|>iAariihetapw»- 
▼incial  aota,  that  haee  aet  aa  ^ccantte  mm  of  •ombs,  whui  Ifcij  at » 
ter  their snu^iataf  ia  f  erasit  dbeeawew  Aad  the  roaaiA  thai  thejr 
hare  not  the  sane  use  of  theni.  ia  readiag  aload  the  seciiMeaes  oa 
others,  bmij  be  traced  to  die  very  defecthre  aad  i  inaauaj"  awAad% 
HI  whith  tiie  ait  of  reaifingis  ta%^;  phciely  all  the  vaiioas,aata* 
rai,  expresBwa  tjpcs  of  speech,  are  siipiaesied »  aad  aane  astaKHU^ 
aBieaaiag  reaiBng  mm*,  vn  sahsrihUeiiFfc  H|e». 

Bat  whea  we  recaaaaeadta  naden,  aa  if  atiiia  to  the  toaa 
aad  laagDafe  of  ^■■"•Vr'*^  w  vipt  be  uadentood  to  do  it  with 
proper  fimitataoitJ  Moderatiaai  is  aecessaij  ia  this  poiot,  as  it  is  in 
other  tiuBgs.  For  whea  rradhig  bi  tis«  i  i  swictif  iwiiative^  as* 
svmesr  a  theatrical*  naaner,  aad  wast  be  l^|^  bapropv,  as  weQ 
as  give  cflbncs  lotiiehearefsi  beeaose  it  is  aifwaiiiiiin  wkhthat 
delicacy  and  aiedestf  ,  wlarh  are  iaftfispeaBahie*  osi  i 
rhe  speaker  who  deBfeis  kk  own  < 
laore  vivid" aad  aaiaiaied,« than  waald be piapar kathe penoBwha 
relates  them  at  aecead  hand. 

We  Aall  ooachide  this  sectipa  with  the  ftDewm*  rale,  ht  tha 
tease  that  jaficate*  the  paaaoea  aad  ■awtinwi  **IareaAi^letall 
V'VT  teaes  of  eapresBMss  be  botvDwea  fiaei  Aecs  il  9^ssbKm  »|K?chi« 
aM.  la  mmm  decree,  asMe  Ikietlf  fharirtisnaMi.    Let  thoaeteaee 


aviju 


INTRODUCTION. 


whJch  JsigriK*  any  disDgreeable  passion  of  the  mind,  he  still  more 
faint  than  those  which  indicate  c^groeable  emotions ;  and,  oii  aU  oc- 
casions, preserve  yourselves  from  being  so  far  affected  with  the  s»'b- 
ject,  as  to  be  able  to  proceed  through  it  with  that  easy  and  masterly 
manner,  which  has  its  good  effects  in  this,  as  well  as  in  every  other 
art.'' 


SECTION  VTI. 


a  Ccs-sa-tion,  s?s-«y-sh?in,  a  stop,  rest 

b  Per-cep-ti-b!e,  pSr-sSp'-ti-bl,  such  as 
may  be  known  or  seen 

c  Meas-ur-a-ble,  mJzh'-flr-i-bl,  sach  ae 
may  be  measured 

d  Tem-po-ra-ry,  I^m'-pi-r4-r^,  fleeting, 
short  lived 

e  Con-ti-nu-i-ty,k6n-tt-n6'-i-t^,connex- 
ion,  cohesion 

/  Usb-er,  &sh'-&r,  to  introduce,  an  assis- 
tant 

ff  Excite,  ?k-slto',  to  rouse,  animate 

h  Dis-gust,  d1z-gi!8t'.  aversion,  offuncG 

t  De-liv-er-y,  d6-!Jv -fir-^,  act  of  deliv- 
ering, uttei-ance 

j  In-ter-val.  1n'-ter-v4],  space  between 
places   -^'' times 

k  Punc-tu-~    ;on,     p3ngk-tshij-JL'-sh5n, 
stops  in  writing 
Con-struc-tion,k6n-strfik'-shun, mean- 
ing, sense 

m  In-ti-rnate,  !n'-ti-m&te,  to  hint,   a  fa- 
miliar friend 

n  En-gage,  Sn-gije',  to   take,  induce, 
bind 

o  Dis-qui-e-tude,  d!3-kwi'-4-tfide,    un- 
easiness 
Al-le-vi-ate,    4,l-li'-vi-ite,  to    make 
light,  to  ease 

q  In-ter-rog-a-tive,      !n-tSr-r6£'-gi-t!v, 
denoting  a  question 


r.  Tcr-mi-nale,tor'-m^-nite,  to  limit.end 
5  Mcis-sen-ger,   m^s'-s^n-jiir,  one  who 

delivers  a  message 
t  Con-junc-tion,  kon-jfink'-shSn,  a  part 

of  speech,  union 
li  Dis-ci-jjline,  dis'-s^-p!!n,  order,  edu- 
cation 
V  Co-in-cide,  kA-!n-slde',  to  concur 
w  Con-trol,  k6n-tr6ir,  to  check,  govern 
z  U-til-i-ty,  yii-lli'-i-ti,  usefulness 
y  Ag-ri-cul-ture,  4g'-ri-k6I-ishure,  til- 
lage, husbandry 
z  Spe-cies,  sp^'-shiz,  a  sort,  class 
a  Re-sign,  r^-zlne',   to  give  up  claim, 

submit 
b  Mal-ice,  mA,l'-l?s,  intention  to  injure 
c  Se-iene,  j--^-r6ne',  calm,  placid 
d  So-lic-i-tude,  sA-l!s'-s^-tude,  anxiety, 

great  care 
e  Re-morse,  ri-m5rse',anguish  of  a  guil- 
ty conscience 
/  Scu-su-al-i-t.y,  s?n-sh{j-&l'-6-ti,  luxu- 
ry, addiction  to  corporeal  pleasures! 
^  A-ver-sion,  jL-vSr'-shun,  dislike,  ha-r 
trcd  j 

A  Lau-da-ble,lS.w'-c&-bl,praise-worthy,j 

good 
i  In-vcs-ti-ga-tion,    !n-v?§-t^-g&'-sh6n,) 

search,  a  tracing,  examination 
j  El-o-cu-tion,  £l-6-kii'-3hfin,eloquence^,i 
delivery 


PAUSES. 

Pauses  or  rests,  in  speaking  or  reading,  are  a  total  cessation"  of 
the  voice,  during  a  perceptible,''  ?nd  in  many  cases,  a  measurable*^ 
space  of  time.  Pauses  are  e(}ually  necessary  to  the  speaker,  and 
tlie  hearer.  To  the  speaker,  that  he  may  take  breath,  without  which 
he  cannot  proceed  far  in  delivery  ;  and  that  he  may,  by  these  tem- 
porary*' rests,  relieve  the  organs  of  speech,  which  otherwise  would 
be  soon  tired  by  continued  action:  to  the  hearer,  that  the  ear  also 
may  be  relieved  from  the  fatigue,  which  it  would  otherwise  endure 
from  a  fontinuity*  of  sound  ;  and  that  the  understanding  may  have 
sufficient  tim6  to  mark  the  distinction  of  sentowces,  and  theii  several 
members. 


INTRODUCTION.  xlx 

There  are  tvvo  kinds  of  pauses  :  flist,  emphatical  pauses ;  aiid 
Tjext,  such  as  mark  the  distinctions  of  sense.  An  emphatical  pause 
is  generally  made  after  something  has  been  said  of  peculiar  moment, 
and  on  which  we  dei^ire  to  fix  the  hearer's  attention.  Sometimes  be' 
fore  such  a  thing  is  said,  we  usher/  it  in  with  a  pause  of  this  nature. 
Such  pauses  have  the  same  effect  as  a  strong  emphasis;  and  are 
subject  to  the  same  rules  ;  especially  to  the  caution,  of  not  repeat- 
ing them  too  frequently.  For  as  they  excited  uncommon  attention, 
and  of  course  raise  expectation,  if  the  importance  of  the  matter  bo 
not  fully  answnable  to  such  expectation,  they  occasion  disappoint- 
ment and  disgust.'"' 

iiut  the  most  Sequent  and  the  principal  use  of  pauses,  is  to  mark 
the  divisions  of  the  sense,  and  at  the  same  time  to  allow  the  reader 
to  draw  his  breath  ;  and  the  proper  and  delicate  adjustment  of  such 
pauses,  is  one  of  the  most  nice  and  difficult  articles  of  delivery.*  In 
al]  reading,  the  management  of  the  breath  requires  a  good  deal  of 
care,  so  as  not  to  obliji,e  us  to  divide  words  from  one  another,  which 
have  so  intimate  a  connexion,  that  they  ought  to  be  pronounced  with 
the  same  breath,  and  witliout  the  least  separation.  Many  a  sen- 
tence is  miserably  mangled,  and  the  force  of  the  emphasis  totally 
lost,  by  divisions  bf  ing  made  in  the  wrong  place.  To  avoid  this,- 
every  one  while  he  is  reading,  should  be  very  careful  to  provide  a 
full  supply  of  breath  for  what  he  is  to  utter.  It  is  a  great  mistake 
to  imagine,  that  the  breath  must  be  drawn  only  at  the  end  of  a  pe- 
riod, when  the  voice  is  allowed  to  fall.  It  may  easily  be  gathered 
at  the  intervals.^"  of  the  period,  when  the  voice  is  suspended  only  for 
a  moment ;  and,  by  this  management,  one  may  always  have  a  suffi- 
cient stork  for  carrying  on  the  longest  sentence,  without  improper  in- 
terruptions. 

Pauses  in  reading  must  generally  be  formed  upon  the  manner  in 
which  wo  utter  ourselves  in  oidinary,  sensible  conversation  ;  and 
not  upon  the  stiff  artificial  manner,  which  is  acquired  from  reading 
books  according  to  the  common  punctuation.*  It  will  by  no  means 
be  sufficient  to  attend  to  the  points  used  in  printing;  for  these  are  far 
from  maiking  all  the  pauses  which  ought  to  be  made  in  reading.  A 
mechanical  attention  to  t)iese  resting  places,  has,  perhaps,  been  one 
cause  of  monotony,  by  leading  the  reader  to  a  similar  tone  at  every 
stop,  and  a  uniform  cadence  at  every  period.  The  primary  use  of 
points,  is  to  assist  tlie  reader  in  discerning  the  grammatical  construc- 
tion ;'  and  it  is  only  as  a  secondary  object,  that  they  regulate  his 
pronunciation.  On  this  head,  the  following  direction  may  be  of 
\^e  :  '•  Tliough  in  reyriing,  gieat  attention  should  be  paid  to  the 
stops,  yet  a  greater  should  be  given  to  the  sense  ;  and  their  corres- 
pondent times  occasionally  lengthened  beyond  what  i^-usual  in  com- 
mon speech. 

To  render  pau?es  pleasing  and 'expressive,  tliey  must  not  only  be 
nade  in  the  right  plaoo,  but  also  accompanied  vritli  a  propex  tone  of 


%%  INTnODUCTION. 

voice,  by  which  the  nature  of  these  pauses  is  uitknated  ;•"  much 
more  than  by  llw  length  of  them,  which  can  sekloin  be  exactly  meas- 
wretl.  Sometimes  it  is  only  a  slight  and  simple  suspension  ofi  voice 
tl»at  is  proper  ;  sometimes  a  degree  of  cadence  in  the  voice  iis  re- 
quired ;  and  sometimes  that  peculiar  tone  and  cadence  which  de- 
note the  sentence  to  be  finished.  In  all  these  cases,  we  are  to  regu- 
late ourselves  by  attending  to  the  manner  in  which  nature  teaches  us 
to  speak,  when  engaged"  in  real  and  earnest  discourse  with  others. 
The  following  sentence  exemplifies  the  suspending  and  the  closi7ig 
pauses:  "  Hupe,  the  balm  of  life,  sooths  us  under  every  misfortune." 
The  first  and  second  pauses  are  accompanied  by  an  inflection  of 
voice,  that  gives  tlie  hearer  an  expectation  of  something  furthei  to 
complete  the  sense  :  tlie  inflection  attending  the  third  pa^ise  sigjiifies 
t  hat  the  sense  is  completed. 

The  preceding  exam})le  is  an  illustration  of  the  suspending  pa«se, 
m  its  simple  state  :  the  following  instance  exhibits  that  pause  with  a 
degree  of  cadence  in  the  voice  :  "  {f  content  cannot  remove  the  dis- 
quietudes" of  mankind,  it  will  at  least  alleviated  them." 

The  suspending  pause  is  often,  in  the  same  sentence,  attended. with 
both  the  rising  and  the  falling  infleetiofi  of  voice  ;  as  will  be  seen  i« 
ihis  example:  "Moderate  exeroiiie\  and  habitual  temperance', 
rtrengthen  the  constitution."* 

As  the  susy^ending  pause  may  be  thus  attended  with  both  the  rising 
arn]  the  falling  inflection,  it  is  the  same  with  regard  to  the  closing 
pause  :  it  admits  of  both.  The  falling  inflection  generally  acconipa- 
oies  it ;  but  it  is  not  unfrequently  connected  with  the  rising  inflec- 
ik)ii.  Interrogative?  sentences,  for  instance,  are  often  terminatx>d^ 
Ml  this  manner  :  as,  "  Am  I  ungrateful'  r"    "  Is  he  in  earnest'  ?" 

But  where  a  sentence  is  begun  by  an  ir.terrogntive  pronoun  or  ad- 
verb, it  is  commonly  terminated  by  the  falling  inflection  :  as,  "  VMvM 
has  he  gained  by  his  folly^  .^"  "  Wno  will  assist  hini^  ?"  "  Whe.  s 
fethe  messenger''?"     "  When  dicbhe  arrive'  ?" 

When  two  questions  are  united  in  one  sentence,  and  connected  by 
the  conjunction'  or,  the  first  takes  the  rising,  the  second  the  filling 
inflection :  as,  "  Does  his  conduct  support  discipline',"  or  destroy 
k'  .?" 

The  rising  and  falling  inflections  must  not  be  confounded  with  enr 
phasis.  Though  they  may  often  coincide,^  they  are,  in  their  nature^ 
perfectly  distinct.     Emphasis  scmetimes  controls'"  those  inflections. 

The  regular  application  of  the  rising  and  falling  infleciions,  con- 
fers so  much  beauty  on  expressl^on,  and  is  so  necessary  to  be  studied' 
by  the  young  reader,  that  we  shall  insert  a  few  more  examples^  t?i 
induce  him  to  pay  greater  attention  to  the  subject.  In  these  instan- 
oe«,  all  the  infleciions  are  not  marked.     Such  only  are  distinguished, 


•  Th»  riung  inflection  t«  denoted'  by  the  acute  •.  tiu*  faiu--  y- 


axTiloorcTiON.  xsi 

«s  are  roo«t  stiiking,  end  will  t)est  serve  lo  show  the  reader  their 
utilitjr*  and  Importance, 

*^  Manufa<iturB3\  trade\  ami  agriculture^  certainly  employ  mor^ 
than  nineteen  parts  hi  twenty  of  the  human  8]>ecies."» 

*"  He  who  resT^ns*  the  world,  has  no  temptation  to  envy',  hatred^, 
iTialice\*  anger';  hut  is  in  constant  possession  of  a  serene*  mind: 
he  u^ho  follows  the  pleasures  of  it,  which  oie  in  their  very  nature 
disappointing,  is  in  constant  search  of  care\  solicitude',''  reniorse'/ 
and  confusion\" 

"  To  advise  the  ignorant^,  relieve  the  ncedy^,  comfort  the  afflict- 
ed', arc  duties  that  fdll  in  our  way  almost  every  day  of  our  lives.'* 

"  Those  evil  spirits,  who  by  long  custom,  have  contracted  jn  the 
body  habits  of  lu^' and  sensuality' ;/ malice',  and  revenge';  an 
aversions' to  every  thingthat  is  good\  just\  and  laudable',^  ate  na- 
turally seasoned  and  prepared  for  pain  and  misery." 

"  1  am  persuaded,  that  neither  death',  nor  life' ;  nor  angels'',  nor 
principaHties',  nor  powers'  ;  northings  present',  northings  to  come' ; 
nor  height',  nor  depth';  nor  any  other  creature',  shall  be  able  to 
separate  us  from  the 'love  of  God'." 

The  reader  who  would  wish  to  see  a  minute  and  ingenioos  inves- 
tigation* of  the  nature  of  these  inflections,  and  the  rules  by  which 
they  are  governed,  iliay  consult  Walker's  Elements  of  Elocution.-' 


SECTION  VIII. 


a  Mcl-o-dy,   mSl'-'li-di,    mubick,   har 

mon^  of  sound 
b  Ad-just,  jid-jfist',  to  put  in  order 
€  CBB-8u-ral,  B^-zu'-rA.!,  rclatlBg    to   a 

ctDsura 
d  De-graJe,     d4-^ride',     to  lessen 

vuiue,  to  dinuiiisli 
e  H«-mis-tich,  lii-m!ri'-tlk,  half  a  vorsc 
/  He-ro-ick,   h6-r6'-!k,   brave,  reciting 

tlio  acts  of  hcroeij 
jr  Theme,  thinie,  a  subject,    original 

word,  root  • 
A  Sac-ri-fice,  sik'-kri-f  Ize,  to  offer  to 

heaven,    that  which  is  offered  to 


heaven 

i  Il-lu-mine,  !M6'-inln,  to  etilighten,  il- 
lustrate 

j  Ar-butli-not,  ir'-bath-n6t,  a  friend  itnd 
cotemporary  of  Alexander  Pope 

*  Op-or-raie,  6p'-pir-4te,  lo  act,  pro- 
duce effects 

I  Com-pi-ler,  k6m-pr-lflr,  a  collector 
from  various  authors 

m  Pu-pil,  pu'-pil,  a  scholar,  tho  oyo- 
ball 

n  Pre-par-a-tor-y,  pr*-p4r'-r4-t5r-4,  in- 
troductory, previous 

0  Peruse,  p^-rdize',  to  read,  to  examine 


Manner  of  reading  verse. 

When  we  are  reading  verse,  there  is  a  peculiar  difficulty  in  ma- 
king the  pauses  justly.  The  difficulty  arises  from  the  melodyaot 
verse,  which  dictates  to  the  ear  pauses  or  rests  of  its  own  :  and  to  ad- 
just'' and  compound  these  properly  with  the  pauses  of  the  sense,  so 
as  neither  to  hurt  theear,norcffend  the  understanding,  is  so  very  nice 
a  matter,  that  it  is  no  wonder  we  so  seldom  meet  with  good  reader* 
©f  poetry.  There  are  two  kinds  of  pauses  that  belong  to  the  melody 
©f  verse  :  one  is,  the  pause  at  the  end  of  the  line  ;  and  the  other,  the 


Xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

ccesural*^  pduse  in  or  near  tlie  middle  of  it.  With  regard  to  the  pause 
at  the  end  of  the  lino,  which  marks  that  strahi  or  verse  to  btf  finished, 
rhyme  renders  this  alv/ays  sensible  ;  and  in  some  measure  compels  us 
to  onserve  it  in  our  pronunciation.  .  In  respect  to  blank  verse,  we 
ought  also  to  read  it  so  as  to  make  every  line  sensible  to  the  car :  for, 
what  is  the  use  of  melod}"",  or  for  whai  end  has  the  poet  composed  in 
verse,  if,  in  reading  his  lines,  we  suppress  his  numbers,  by  omitiing 
the  final  pause  ;  and  degrade'^  them,  by  our  pronunciation,  into  mere 
prose  ?  At  the  same  time  that  we  attend  to  tliis  pause,  every  appear- 
ance of  sing-song  and  tone,  must  be  carefully  guarded  against.  The 
close  of  the  line  where  it  makes  no  pause  in  the  meaning,  ought  not 
to  be  marked  by  such  a  tone  as  is  used  in  finishing  a  sentence ;  but, 
without  either  fall  or  elevation  of  the  voice,  it  should  be  denoted  only 
.by  so  slight  a  suspension  of  sound,  as  may  distinguish  the  passage 
from  one  line  to  another,  without  injuring  the  meaning. 

The  other  kind  of  melodious  pause,  is  that  which  fails  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  the  verse,  and  divides  it  into  two  hemjstichs' ;  a 
pause,  not  so  great  as  that  which  belongs  to  the  close  of  the  line,  but 
still  sensible  to  an  ordinary  ear.  This,  wliich  is  called  the  caesural 
pause,  may  fall,  in  English  heroic/ verse,  after  the  4th,  6th.,  6th,  or 
7th  syllable  in  theUine.  AVhere  the  verse  is  so  constructed,  that 
this  caisurai  pause  coincides  with  iJie  slightest  pr^use  or  division  in 
the  sense,  the  line  can  be  read  easily  ;  as  in  the  two  first  verses  of 
Pope's  Messiah : 

"  Ye  nymphs  of  Solyman^^ !  begin  the  song ; 

"  To  heav'nly  themes"  V  sublimer  strains  belong." 

But  if  it  should  happen  that  words  which  have  so  strict  and  intimate 
a  connexion,  as  not  to  bear  even  a  momentary  separation,  are  divi- 
ded from  one  another  by  this  cjesural  pause,  we  then  feel  a  sort  of 
struggle  between  the  sense  and  the  sound,  which  rendersit  difficult  to 
read  such  lines  harmoniously.  The  rule  of  proper  pronunciation  in 
such  cases,  is  to  regard  only  the  pause  which  the  sense  forms  :  and 
to  read  the  line  accordingly.  The  neglect  of  the  caisura^Jjiause  may 
make  the  line  sound  somewhat  unharmoniously  ;  but  the  effect  would 
be  much  worse,  if  the  sense  were  sacrificed''*  to  the  sound.  For  in- 
stance, in  the  following  line  of  Milton, 

-  "  What  in  me  is  dark, 


"  Illumine  ;'  what  is  low,  raise  and  support." 

the  sense  clearly  dictates  the  pause  after  illumine^  at  the  end  of  iho 
third  syllable,  which,  in  r^^ading,  ouglit  to  be  made  accordingly  ; 
though,  if  the  melody  only  were  to  be  regarded,  illumine  'jhould  be 
connected  with  what  followF,  and  the  pause  not  made  till  the  fourth 


II 


•  INTROOUCTION.  XXlfi 

[>r  sixtU  syllabic.  So  in  the  following  Hue  of  Pope's  Epistle  to  Dr» 
^rbuvhnot  ;^ 

"  I  sit,  with  sad  civility  I  read.** 

the  ear  plainly  points  out  the  cajsural  pause  as  falling  after  sad^  the 
tbuith  syllable.  But  it  would  bo  veiy  bad  reading  to  make  any 
pause  there,  so  as  to  separate  sad  and  civility.  I'he  sense  admits  of 
no  other  pause  than  after  the  second  syllable  5z7,  which  therefore 
must  be  the  only  pause  made  in  reading  this  part  of  the  sentence. 

There  is  another  mode  of  dividing  some  verses,  by  introducing 
what  may  be  called  denii-ca'.suras,  which  recjuire  very  slight  pauses  ; 
and  vvhicli  the  reader  should  manage  withjudgment,or  he  wiU  be  apt 
lo  fall  into  an  affected  sing-song  mode  of  pronouncing  verses  of  this 
kind.     The  following  lines  exemplify  the  demi-ca;sura. 

"  Warms'  in, the  sun",  refreshes'  in  the  breeze, 
"  Glows'  in  the  stars",  and  blossoms'  in  the  trees ; 
"  Lives  through  all  life"  ;  extends'  through  all  extent, 
**  Spreads'  undivided",  operates'*  unspent." 

Before  the  conclusion  of  this  introduction,  the  Compiler'  takes  the 
liberty  to  recommend  to  teachers,  to  exercise  their  pupils'*  in  discov- 
ering and  explaining  the  cm}>hatic  words,  and  the  proper  tones  and 
pauses,  of  every  portion  assigned  them  to  read,  previously  to  i heir 
being  called  out  to  the  performance.  These  preparatory"  lessons,  in 
which  they  should  be  regularly  examined,  will  improve  their  judg- 
ment and  taste  ;  prevent  the  practice  of  reauing  without  attention  lo 
the  subject ;  and  establish  a  habit  of  readily  discovering  the  mean* 
ing,  force,  and  beaiuy,  of  every  sentence  ttiey  peruse. 


THE 


ENGLISH  READER, 


PART  L 

^itctti  in  ^voat. 


CHAPTER  L 

CSXiSCT   SXJVTE27GSS   AND   PAJLAfi&APBS. 


SECTION  I. 


•  IMI-i-g«nce,  d!I'-i-jiiM«,  indostry,  mm- 

•iduity 
A  In-(hw-try,  In'-dfii-tri,  diligence,   eb- 

•iduity 
€  M«-te-ri-a!,    na4-li'-ri-il,  -corporeal, 

essMitial 
d  Ac-qui-sit-ion,    Ak-kwi-rlth'-fin^  the 

act  of  acquiriug 
«•  En  dorw-meirt,   ftn-dW-mint,  weaW: 

'be«Wwed,^ift«ot"  nature 
/  Ba  sis,  bi'-sis,  the  foundation  of  any 

tbilTjr 

PiMri^y,  p6'-ri-n,  to  ma4(«  «r  frow 


pur« 
k  Tran  <j«fl-i-ty,  trin*k<wV-i4l,  < 

calm  nets 
I   Re-ir«at,  r^tr^te',  r«tireaaft«t,  to  f»> 

tire 
J  Be-nef  i-cence,  W-«rfr-*-»l«ee,a«t  <i 

goodneei 
k  0«-ten-ia-4M&,  U-i&n-xii-tiAn,  Talk 

show 
CcM3a-pat-sioii-«i«,  it&in-i^ah'-&a-4«S 

merciful,  to  pitv 
m  Con-Bcicnce,  ktn  -«!iSn|e,  the  fae«)(;f 

by  whieh  we  j«<]go  of  <inraelv«a 


BILIGENCE,«  industry,*  and  proper  improvement  ci 
time,  are  material  duties  of  the  3'oung. 
The  acquisition*'  of  knowJedge  is  one  of  me  mostbott* 
urablc  occupations  of  youth* 


JjOTE. — In  the  first  chapter  tht>  ooinpiter  hae  exhibited  tenteneee  in 
▼ariety  of  conBtructio*).  and  in  all  ib«  diversity  of  punctuation.  If  well  pra<y 
ti»od  lyiun,  he  presumes  liiey  wiJi  fuily  prepare  the  young  reader  for  the  vajiow 
pauses^  iiiflec.i-onii,  und  nindulatiottfl  of  vo>oe,  which  the  succeeding  pieeec  ni 
^uipe.  Th«Author'ii  '^^  English  Exef«i«t.ii,"  under  the  head  of  Punctnatidkf 
^11  afford  the  learner  additional  fcopa  £ur  impfpyiof  bimMtf  ia  T''<f4*fig  mtt 

C 


t6  English  Keader.  l^rt  t 

Whatever  useful  or  en^«agin^  endowments*  we  possess, 
virtue  is  requisite,  in  order  to  their  shining  with  proper 
lustr^. 

Virtuous  youth  gradually  brings  forward  accomplished 
and  flourishing  manhood. 

Sincerity  arid  truth,  form  the  basis/ of  every  virtue. 

Disappomtments  and  distress  are  often  blessmgs  in  dis- 
guii^e. 

Change  and  alteration  form  the  very  essense  of  the 
world. 

True  liappiness  iS  of  a  retired  nature,  and  an  enemy  to 
pomp  and  noise. 

In  order  to  acquire  a  capacity  for  happiness,  it  must  be 
Dur  first  study  to  rectify  inward  disorders. 

Whatever  purifies,!'  fortifies  also  the  heart. 

From  our  eagerness  to  grasp,  we  strangle  and  destroy 
pleasure. 

A  temperate  spirit^  and  moderate  expectations,  are  ex- 
«ellent  safeguaros  of  the  mind,  in  this  uncertain  and 
changing  state. 

There  is  nothing  except  simplicity  of  intention,  and 
purity  of  principle,  that  can  stand  the  test  of  near  ap- 
proach ana  sti'ict  examination. 

The  value  of  any  possession  is  to  be  chiefly  estimated, 
.  by  the  r -lief  whida  it  can  bring  us  in  the  time  of  our 
greatest  need. 

No  person  who  has  once  yielded  up  the  government  of 
his  mind,  and  given  loose  rem  to  his  desires  aad  passions, 
Cvin  tell  how  far  they  may  carry  him. 

Tranquillity^*  of  mind  is  always  most  likely  to  be  at* 
tained,  when  the  business  of  the  world  is  tempered  with 
thoughtful  and  serious  retreat.*' 

He  who  would  act  like  a  wise  man,  and  build  his  house 
on  the  rock,  and  not  on  the  sand,  should  contemplate  hu- 
man life,  not  only  in  the  sunsiiine,  but  in  the  shade. 

Let  usefulness  and  beneficence,;  not  ostentatipn*  aod 
vanity,  direct  the  train  of  your  pursuits. 

To  maintain  a  steady  and  unbroken  mind,  amidst  all 
the  shocks  of  the  world,  marks  a  ^reat  aiad  noble  spirit. 

Patience,  by  preserving  composure  within,  resists  the 
impression  which  trouble  makes  from  without. 

Compassionate'  affections,  even  when  they  draw  tears 
from  our  eyes  for  human  misery^  convey  satisfaction  to 
the  heart. 

They  who  have  nothing  to  give,  can  afibrdl  relief  t» 
other«\  hv  impartinai  what  they  feeJ. 


Oiop.  1. 


Select  Sentences,  &c 


ft7 


Our  ignorance  of  what  is  to  come,  and  of  what  Is  rr«|*. 
ly  good  or  evil,  should  correct  anxiety  about  worldly  luc- 
cess. 

The  veil  which  covers  from  our  sight  the  events  of  sue- 
ceeding  years,  is  a  veil  woven  bv  the  hand  of  mercy. 

The  best  preparation  for  all  tlie  uncertainties  of  futu> 
rity,  consists  in  a  well  ordered  mind,  a  good  conscience,* 
and  a  cheerftd  submission  to  the  will  of  Heaven. 


SECTION  II. 


«  Fol-lfi  fSl'-Ii,  weaknrgn,  depravity 

b  Vic-Uoi,  vik'-ilm,  a  Hucrifit-e 

(  In-tem-per-uiice,  1n-t^in'-j>^r-4nse,  ex 

ce««  in   meat  or  drink,   a  want  of 

tcin^ierancc 
i  In-do-lence,  1n'-d6-l^nse,  larJnesi 
f  Cre-a-tor,  kri-4'-lfir,  (Jod,  ono  wIhj 

creates 
/  Cuf-rcnt,  kSr'-rJnt,  circulatory,  run- 

n'\n^  Btreani 
g  Frustrate,  frfis'-trite,  to  defeat,  b.ilk 
k  Con-fer,  k6n-fer',lo  bestow,  discours*^ 

with 
i  Ex-t«r-nal,  iks-tir'-nAI,  outward,  ap- 


parent 
j  U-ni-\'^r«c,  yA'-nA-v^fie,  the  who)* 

world 
k  Di6-tru8t,  d!«-tr&Bt',  to  dnubt,  nuiil- 

cion 
/  Cuv-il,  kAv'-?1,  to  raiwi  captioui  ^k* 

jection«,  a  captious  argument 

m  Scop-tic-ul,  t?p'-i!k-Al,  uiihrlievinf 

n  In-di-cation,  In-di-k4'-8h&n,   nark, 

Byniplorn 
o  Big-ot-ry,  Mg'-gfit-tr*,  blind  cmI,  ■•• 

perKtiiion 
p  Max-im,  m&kc'-Im,  a  general  priMl- 

pie 


The  chief  misfortunes  that  befall  us  in  life,  can  he  tra- 
ccd  to  some  vices  or  follies'*  which  we  have  committed. 

Were  we  to  survey  the  chambers  of  sickness  and  dis- 
tress, w^e  should  often  find  them  peopled  with  the  victims* 
of  intemperance-^  and  sensuality,  and  with  the  children  of 
vicious  indolence**  and  sloth. 

To  be  wise  in  our  own  eyes,  to  be  wise  in  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  and  to  be  wise  in  the  sight  of  our  Creator,* 
are  three  things  so  vrry  diflerent,  as  rarely  to  coincide. 

Man,  in  hisliighest  earthly  glory,  is  but  a  reed  floating 
on  the  stream  of  time,  and  forced  to  follow  every  new 
direction  of  the  current./ 

The  corrupted  teinper,  and  the  guilty  passions  of  the 
bad,  frustrate?  the  efiect  of  every  advantage  which  tht 
■world  confers*  on  them. 

The  external*  misfortunes  of  life,  disappointments,  po- 
verty, and  sickness,  are  light  in  comparison  of  tbose^  in- 
ward distresses  of  mind,  occasioned  by  folly,  by  passioo, 
and  by  guilt. 

No  station  is  so  high,  no  power  so  great,  no  cbaractef 
?6^  unblemished,  as  to  exempt  ixieB  U-om  the  fittacka  e# 
vasfoce^,  malice,  or  envy. 


I 


1»  Kaolisu  Reader.  Pttft  1. 

iMoral  and  religious  instruction  derires  its  efficacy,  not 
fco  much  irom  what  men  are  taught  to  know,  as  from 
wliat  they  are  hrought  to  feel. 

He  who  pretends  to  great  sensibility  towards  men,  and 
ct  has  no  feeling  for  the  high  objects  of  religion,  no 
leart  to  admire  and  adore  the  great  Father  of  the  uni- 
verse/ has  reason  to  distrust*  the  truth  and  delicacy  of 
his  sensibility. 

When,  upon  rational  and  fsober  inqinry,  we  have  es- 
tablished our  principles,  let  us  not  suffer  them  to  be  sha- 
ken by  the  scoffs  of  licentious,  or  the  cavils'  of  the  scep- 
tical."' 

When  we  observe  any  tendency  to  treat  religion  or 
morals  with  disrespect  and  levity,  let  us  hold  it  to  be  a 
Kure  indication'*  of  a  perverted  understanding,  or  a  de- 
praved heart. 

Every  degree  of  guilt  incurred  by  yielding  to  temp- 
tation, tends  to  debase  the  mind,  and  to  weaken  the  ge- 
nerous and  benevolent  principles  of  human  nature. 

Liixury,  pride,  and  vanity,  have  frequently  as  much  in- 
fluence in  corrupting  the  sentiments  of  the  great,  as  ig- 
norance, bigotry,**  and  prejudice,  have  in  misleading  the 
opinions  of  the  multituae. 

Mixed  as  the  present  state  is,  reason  and  religion  pro- 
nounce, that  generally,  if  not  always,  there  is  more  nap- 
))iness  than  misery,  more  pleasure  than  pain,  in  the  con- 
dition of  man. 

Society,  when  formed,  requires  distinctions  of  proper- 
ty, diversity  of  conditions,  subordination  of  ranks,  and  * 
multiplicity  of  occupations,  in  order  to  advance  the  ge« 
neral  good. 

That  the  temper,  the  sentiments,  the  morality,  and,  in 
general,  the  whole  conduct  and  character  of  men,  are  in- 
fluenced by  the  example  and  disposition  of  the  persons 
with  whom  they  associate,  is  a  reflection  which  has  long 
since  passed  into  a  proverb,  and  been  ranked  among  the 
standing  maxims?  of  human  wisdom,  in  all  ages  of  th^ 
world. 


SECTION  III. 

«  Tlr-tue,  vSr'-tsh/i,  moral  goodness     \d  Hu-mane,  hfi-mine',  kind,  benevolent 
k  Re-fine-ment,  rA-fliie'-mSnt,  a  purify-  a  Txaii-sient,    Uin'-ebiot^    ahort,  mo* 

ing,  improvement  mentary 

«  V«>-lup-ui-«H7,  v^Wp'.t8h6-4-r&,  onelf  Lus-tre,  158*-rtr,   bri^tneae,  tjiJew 


ChajL  U  BeLSCT    BE3rTENt:BS,    &«. 


f  Com-«t,  k6m-!T^  a  licavenly  body  ^ 
1  Ar-o-mnt-ick,  ir-6-m&t'-Tk,  Bpicy, fra- 
grant 
I  Period,  pA'-ri-Sd,  a  round  of  time, 

full  point 
j  rom-inuno,  k6m-mi'ine',  to  converse 
k  La.-tent,  ili'-tSnt,  hidden,  secret 


i  Su-per-stit-!oo,  •^-p^r-stWr'-^,  feb* 

devotion 
m  Prej-ii-dice,    prl(i'-ji>-itta,    prepnw . 

«ion,  injury,  to  hurl 
D»>-t»pon-(ieiit,  d^-spoa'-dint,  deepaJ»« 

ing 


The  desire  of  improTpmont  discovprs  a  libprni  mind, 
and  is  connected  with  many  accomplishments,  and  many 
virtues.^ 

Innocence  confers  ease  and  freedom  on  the  mind  ;  and 
leavf's  it  open  to  ev(!ry  pieJisinji;  sensation. 

Moderate  and  i^imp!c•  pleasures  reliijh  liij^h  Vvith  the  It'm- 
perate:  in  the  midst  of  the  studied  nilinements,*  the  ve- 
in ptui.rv  larij^uishes. 

(Gentleness  corrects  whatever  Is  oin^.nsive  in  our  manners  ; 
and  by  a  constant  train  of  hr»mi>ne<^  attentions,  studies  tm 
allt'Niate  tin;  burden  of  common  misery. 

That  }:;entleness  which  is  the  characteristic  of  a  pjtxofl 
man,  has,  like  every  other  virtue,  its  seat  in  the  hrart  : 
and,  let  me  add,  no'tliing,  except  what  Hows  IVom  tliw 
heart,  can  render  evm  external  manners  truly  ph.asirji^. 

Virtue,  to  become  eith<*r  vi^^orous  or  usehif,  nuist  Ne 
habitually  active  :  not  breaking  forth  occasitmally  with  a 
transient'  histi'c,/ like  the;  h'aze  of  a  count -.s  l)ut  rt^irnlar 
in  its  returns,  like  the  Ifji^ht  «d*  daj^  :  not  like  the  arouiatic* 
pale,  which  sometimes  Toasts  the  sense;  biit  like  ihe  nr- 
dimirv  breeze,  which  purifies  the  air,  and  reiidr-rs  A 
heahhful. 

The  happiness  of  every  man  depends  more  upon  tht» 
state  of  his  own  mind,  than  upon* any  one  external  cir- 
cumstance: nay,  more  than  u\H}n  all  external  things  |u*t 
tojrthr'T. 

Jn  no  station,  in  no  period,'  let  us  think  ourselves  se- 
cure from  the  dangers  which  spiin?;  from  our  passions. 
T>.'2ry  a;:c,  and  every  station  they  beset ;  from  youth  to 
^\c\y  hairs,  and  from  the  peasant  to  the  pi-iner. 

itic.Ues  and  pleasures  are  the  chitf  temptatior»s  to  crim- 
inal deeds.  \et  those  riches,  wh?  n  (ihtaiued.  may  very 
pusiiibly  oViM'whelni  us  witii  miforesecn  miseries.  "^rht>se 
pleasures  mn.y  cut  short  our  heallh  and  life. 

He  who  is  fi/'cu.^tomed  to  turn  aside  from  the  >TorW, 
and  commime-'  willi  himself  in  retirement,  will,  Bome» 
times  at  least,  he.ixr  the  truths  which  the  multitude  do  not 
U>11  him.     A  more  >.»uud  »n<tructi»r  will  »ift  his  vaic^,  «nd 


JEiXGLISn    IVEADEO. 


Pttrt  U 


nwaken  within  the  heart,  those  latent*  8iif«;{;estions,  which 
the  wokM  had  overpowered  and  supf  ressed. 

Amnh'ement  often  becomes  the  hiwiness,  instead  of  the 
rel;ixatiofi,  of  yoiinj^  persons  :  it  is  ti>en  liij^hly  pernicious. 

He  that  waits  for  an  opportunity,  to  do  much  at  once, 
may  breathe  out  his  life  in  idle  wishes  ;  and  rep;ret,  in  the 
kist  hour,  his  useless  intentions  and  barren  zeal. 


spu'it  ot  true   religion  breatli 
It  {Hves  a  native,  unaffected  ( 


tility.  It  {!;ives  a  native,  unaffected  ease  to  the  behaviour. 
It  is  social,  kind  and  cheerful  :  far  removed  from  that 
gloomy  and  illiberal  superstition,' which  clouds  the  brow, 
s-lurpens  the  temper,  diijects  the  spirit,  and  teaches  men, 
to  fit  themselves  for  another  world,  by  neglecting  the 
concerns  of  this. 

Reveiit  none  of  the  secrets  of  thy  friend.  Be  faithful 
to  his  interests.  Forsake  him  not  in  danj^er.  Abhor  the 
thou^^ht  ofac(juiring.any  advanta.^e  by  his  pir)p;judice.«" 

Man,  always  prosperous,  would  be  giddy  and  insolent ; 
always  adiicied,  would  be  sullen  or  despondent."  ifopes 
and  fears,  joy  and  sorrow,  are,  therefore,  so  bleRdea  in 
his  life,  as  both  to  give  room  for  worldly  pu-rsuits^  and  to 
recall^  from  time  to  time,  the  admonitions  ©I*  coft»dence. 


SECTION  IV'. 


A  Mo-mont,     mi'-m?n^,     importance, 

forco,  ii  point ct' time 
h  Sta-bic,  ili'-Ul,  fixed,  conataot 

•  Av-e-nue,  A.v'-^nii,  an  entrance,  an 

ailey 
d  CI»af-i"-ty,t»hAr'-i-ti,  tenderness,  bc- 
n«voleiice 

•  G"wi.-a-ine,  j4n'-&-ln,     not    spurious, 

teal 

/  Fer.'-mcnt,  ffiT-mhxl',  to  rarefy  by  in- 
te»»tiije  motion,  of  purts 

j'Tiiii  or-ous,  t!m'-ar-flfl,  fearl^k  bash- 
ful 


A  Distort,  d1s-t6rt',  to   twi*r,.  deform, 

wrest 
/■  Snm-mit,  e?im'-mTt,  the  utmost  hei^^ht 
;  Ciin-daur,  kAn'-dur,  frankness,  honesty 
A:  Al-lure,   41-liire',    to  entice  to    any 

thing 
I  Eq-ui-pajfe,  §k'-kw^-pAJe,    fuiir)itur« 

for  a  horsoman,  carnage  of  state, 

attendance 
m  Con-dii-cive,  kou-du'-slv,  promoting,. 

aid  in;? 
n  T6-ken,  ti'-k'n,  a  si^n,  memorial 
0  Fund,  fund,  stock,  capital 


Time  once  past  never  return*:  the  m»mient<»  which  is 
lost,  is  lost  for  ever. 

There  is  nothrn-g  on  earth  so  stable,*  as  tO;  assure  us  of 
indisturbed  rest  ;  nor  so  powerful,  as  tO'  afford  us  con- 
•tant  protection. 

The  house  of  feasting  too  often  becomes  an  avenue*  tm, 
the  iiouse  of  mourning.  Short,  to  the  liceatious^  \»  th# 
MUrral  between  th^m.  i 


It  is  of  gr€»ftt  Importance  to  us,  to  form  a  proper  eati 
mate  of  human  life  ;  without  eitlier  loading  it  with  ima  • 
cinary  evils,  or  exjHicting  from  it  greater  advantages  tlian 
It  is  able  to  yield. 

Among  all  our  corrupt  passions,  there  is  a  strong  and 
intimate  connection.  \Vhen  any  one  of  them  is  adopted 
into  our  family,  it  seldom  quits  until  it  has  fathered  upoo 
us  all  its  kindred. 

Charity, '^  like  the  sun,  brightens  every  object  on  which 
it  shines  ;  a  censorious  disposition  casts  every  character 
into  the  darkest  shade  it  Avill  bear. 

Many  men  mistake  the  love,  for  th«  practice  of  virtue  ; 
and  are  not  so  Kiuch  good  men,  as  the  fnends  of  good 
ness. 

(renuine'  virtue  has  a  language  that  speaks  to  every 
heart  throughout  the  world.  It  isa  language  which  is  un- 
derstood by  all.  In  every  region,  every  climate,  the  ho- 
mage paid  to  it  is  the  same.  In  no  one  sentiment  werw 
ever  mankind  more  generally  agreed. 

The  appearances  of  our  security  are  frequently  deceit- 
ful. AVhen  our  sky  seems  mosf  settled  and  serene,  in 
some  unobserved  quarter  gathers  the  little  black  cloud  in 
which  the  tempest  ferments,/  and  prepares  to  discharge 
itself  on  our  head. 

The  man  of  true  fortitude  may  be  compared  to  the  cat- 
tle built  on  the  rock,  which  defies  the  attack  of  surround- 
ing waters :  the  man  of  a  feeble  and  timorous^^  spirit,  to 
a  Inrt  placed  on  the  shore,  which  every  wind  shakes,  and 
every  wave  overflows. 

Nothing  is  so  inconsistent  with  self-possession  as  vio- 
lent anger.  It  overpowers  reason  ;  confounds  our  ideas; 
distorts^'  the  appearance,  and  blackens  the  colour  of  every 
object.  By  the  storms  which  it  raises  within,  and  by  the 
mfscliiefs  which  it  occasions  without,  it  generally  brings 
on  the  passionate  and  revengeful  man,  greater  misery  thaa 
he  can  bring  on  t\m  object  of  his  resentment. 

The  palace  of  virtue  has,  in  all  ages,  been  represented 
as  placed  on  the  summit*  of  a  hill;  in  the  ascent  of  which, 
labour  is  requisite,  and  ditiiculties  are  to  be  surmounted; 
and  where  a  conductor  is  needed,  to  direct  our  way,  and 
to  aid  our  steps. 

In  judging  of  others,  let  us  always  think  the  best,  and 
employ  the  spirit  of  charity  and  candour.-'  But  in  judg»- 
feig  of  ourselves,  we  ought  "to  be  exact  and  severe. 

Xet  hio:!,  who  desires  to  tie^  otliers  happy,  make  haate 


/ 

to  ^r«  whHe  his  gift  can  be  enjoyed ;  and  remembef« 

thaterc'ry  moment  of  delay  takes  away  something  from 
the  Tiilue  of  his  benefaction.  And  let  him  who  proposet^^ 
bis  own  happiness  reflect,  that  while  he  forms  his  pur- 
pose, the  day  rolls  on,  and  **  the  night  cometh,  when  n* 
man  can  work.'* 

To  sensual  persons,  hardly  any  thing  is  what  it  ap- 
pears to  he  :  and  what  flatters  most,  is  always  farthest 
rroni  reality.  There  are  voices  which  sing  around  them  ; 
hut  whose  strains  alhire*  to  ruin.  There  is  a  banquet 
ipread,  where  poison  is  in  every  dish.  There  is  a  couch 
which  invites  them  to  repose  ;  but  to  slumber  upon  it,  is 
4cath. 

U  we  would  judge  whether  a  man  is  really  happy,  it  is 
nnt  solely  to  His  houses  and  lands,  to  his  equipage'  and 
hi»  retinue  We  are  to  look.  Unless  we  could  see  firther> 
and  discern  what  joy,  or  what  bitterness,  his  heart  feels> 
we  can  pronounce  little  concerning  him. 

The  hook  is  well  written  ;  and  I  have  perused  it  with 
pleasure  and  profit.  It  shows,  first,  that  true  devotion  \% 
wtional  and  well  founded  ;  next,  that  it  is  of  the  highest 
importance  to  every  other  part  of  religion  and  virtue  ; 
ana,  lastly,  that  it  is  most  conducive'"  to  our  happiness. 

There  is  certainly  no  greater  felicity,  than  to  be  abit 
to  look  back  on  a  life  uselully  and  virtuously  employed ; 
to  trace  our  own  progress  in  existence,  by  such  tokens" 
ft!  excite  neither  shame  nor  sorrow*  It  ought  there foro 
to  be  the  care  of  those  who  wish  to  pass  the  last  hour* 
with  comfort,  to  lay  up  such  a  treasure  of  pleasing  ideas, 
fti  shall  sunport  the  expenses  of  that  time,  which  is  to  d©» 
pend  wholly  upon  tlie  fand*  already  acquired. 

SECTION  V. 


f   A-vail,  JL-Tile',  benefit,  to  prefit 
h  Qual-i-fy,  kw&l'-tt-f I,  to  fit  for  any 
purpoic,  to  abate,  to  soften 

•  E-iteetn,  i-»\k^m\  to«et  a  value  upon 
d  Jel-U-ty,  j6r-l*-te,  gaiety 

*  Dia-piay,  dla-pli',  to  exiiibit,  pomp 
/  Ai>-peal,  *p-p41a' ,  to  refer,  a  refer- 

eooo 
g  Z>»-M»-tMM,  41i-kia-tlat',  want  of 


content 
h  Un-war-ran-fa-ble,  fin-wAr'-r4n-t4-M» 

indefensible,  not  to  be  justified 
»  Ir-re-cov-or-a-ble,    !r-ri-k&v'-&r-&-U, 

not  to  be  r«>gHii.'ed 
j  Squan-der,  skw^n-dAr,  to  laviah,  dia* 

sipato 
h  Ef-fem-i-nate,    tf-ftai'-^-nit*^    v^ 

maaish,  voiaptuoua,  taader  | 


Wmat  artils«  the  ihow  of  external  liberty,  to  one  Who 
haM  Wot  tkk%  Koveromont  of  himeelf  t 


Chop,  I.  Selkct  SEHTK?rcr>Sr  Am%  38^ 

He  that  cnnnot  live  well  to-<!ay,  (says  Martial,  (wifl  bo 
less  qiutlifted*  to  live,  -vv ell  to-morrow. 

Can  we  esteem'"  that  man  prosperous,  who  is  raised  to 
a  situation  which  flatters  his  passions,  hut  which  corrupt"! 
his  principles,  disorders  his  temper,  and  finally  oversets 
his  virtue  ? 

What  misery  does  the  vicious  man  secretly  endtirc  !— 
Adversity  !  how  hlunt  are  all  the  arrows  of  ihy  quiver, 
in  comparison  with  those  of  ^uilt ! 

When  we  have  no  pleasure  in  goodness,  we  may  with 
certainty  conclude  the  reason  to  be,  that  our  pleasure  is 
all  derived  from  an  opposite  quarter. 

How  stran;;ely  are  the  opuiions  of  men  altertid  by  a 
change  in  their  condition  ! 

How  many  have  had  reason  to  be  thankful,  for  bein^ 
disappointed  in  desijrns  which  tiiey  earnestly  pursued,  but 
which,  it  successfully  accomplished,  they  have  afterwards 
seen  would  have  occasioned  their  ruin  I 

What  are  the  actions  which  alford  in  the  remembrance 
a  rational  satisfaction  ?  Are  they  the  pursuits  of  sensual 
pleasure,,  the  riots  of  jollity,''  or  tlie  displays*  of  show  and 
vanity]  No  :  I  npneal/to  your  hearts,  my  friends,  if  what 
you  recollect  witii  most  pleasure,  are  iK)t  the  innocent, 
the  virtuous,  the  honourable  parts  of  your  past  life. 

The  present  employm.ent  of  time  should  freipiently  be 
an  object  of  thouj^nt.  About  what  are  we  now  busied  ? 
What  is  tlic  ultimate  scope  of  our  present  pursuits  and 
cares  ?  Can  we  justify  them  to  ourselves  ?  Are  they  like- 
ly to  produce  any  thinp;  that  will  survive  the  moment,  and 
bring  forth  some  fruit  for  futurity  ? 

Is  it  not  strange  (says  an  ingenious  writer,)  that  some 
perbons  should  be  so  delicate  as  not  to  bear  a  disagreea- 
ble picture  in  the  house,  and  yet,  by  their  behaviour, 
force  every  face  they  see  about  them,  to  wear  the  gloom 
of  uneasiness  and  discontent  \i 

If  we  are  now  in  health  peac*>  ?.nd  safety  ;  without 
any  particular  or  uncommon  evils  to  aftlict  our  condi- 
tion ;  what  more  can  we  reasonably  look  for  in  this  vain 
and  uncertain  wortd  ?  How  little  can  the  greatest  pros- 
perity add  to  such  a  state  ?  Will  any  future  situation  ever 
make  us  happy,  if  now,  with  so  few  causes  of  grief,  w« 
imagine  ourselves  miserable  ?  The  evil  lies  in  the  state  of 
our  mind,  not  in  our  condition  of  fortune  ;  and  by  no  al- 
terjition  of  circumstances  is  likely  to  be  remedied. 
When  the  h)ve  of  anwarrantableA  plea8ures,ami  of  vicioiM 


9%  EnG'Sisii  Ueas^er.  Pttrt  ^ 

•ofnpenions,  is  allowed  to  amuse  youn|;  persons,  to 
#njgro*3  their  time,  and  to  stir  up  their  passions  ;  the  day 
0f  ruin, — let  them  take  heed,  and  beware  !  the  day  of 
Irrecoverable*  ruin  bejrins  to  draw  nigh.  Fo^rtune  is  squan- 
dered '^  health  is  broken ;  friends  arc  otretided,  affronted, 
cstranj^ed  ;  a<5ed  parents,  perhaps,  sen45  afflicted  andi 
raournmg  to  the  dust. 

On  whom  does  time  hang  so  heavily,  as  on  the  slothfull 
mnd  lazy  ?  To  whom  are  the  hours  so  Irngering  ?  Who? 
mre  so  often  devoured  wiih  spleen,  and  obliged  to  fly  to* 
every  expedient,  which  can  help  them  to  get  rid  of  them- 
lelves  ?  Instead  of  producing  tranquilhty,  indolence  pro- 
duces a  fretful  restlessnesfv  of  mind  ;  gi¥es  rise  to  crav- 
ings which  are  never  satisfied  ;  nourishes  »  sickly,  effem- 
Viate*  delkacy,  which  sours^  and  corrupts  ftvery  pleasure^ 


SECTION  VI. 

death 

/;  Con-tin-u-ance,  k6n-l!n'-ii-iin»,  per- 
manence 

f  Sal-u-ta-ry,  sM'-lii-tl-ri,  wholeioma, 

r»  Mifi-gate,    ni!t'-tA  gite,    to   soften, 

alleviate 
w  As-pect,  As'-p5kt,  took,  air,  eountt 

nance 
Pluc-id,  plAs'-sTd,  pentle,  mild 
p  Be-nev-o-hjnt,    bi-nfiv'-A-lInt,    kind), 

chawtable 
y  Pro-fu-sion,     pri-ffi'-zhfln,    extrara- 

ganco 
r  Mag-nif-i-cent,  mig-n!f '-i-gintjjrandj: 

pompous 
s  Per-pot-u-al,     pfir-pit'-t»hi-il,  noTor 

ceasing,  continual' 


•iDii-trib-ute,  d!«-tr!b'-ftte,  to  divide, 
deal  out 

§  Grat-i-tude,  gr4t'-i-t6de,  duty  to  be- 
nefactors 

♦  B-lus-tri-ous,  ll-lfis'-tr^-fls,  conHpicu 

ous,  noble 
4  Con-temp-ti-blc,  kon-tSm'-ti-bl,  wor- 
thy of  contempt 

•  Xn-fa-nw>ug,     In'-fi-mfis,      publickly 

icandalous 
^  Lon-gt-nus,  l6n-jr-nSK,  a  Greek  philo 

sopher  and  critick  of  Athens 
jrEo-vt-oH«,  Jn'-vi-Bs,    infected    with 

envy  or  ill  wUl 
t  Dig-ni-ty,  dlg'-ni-tft,  rank,  grandeur, 

preferment 
It  Sen-si-tive,  sSn'-si-tlv,  endowed  with 

feoKng 
Xm-mor-tal,  !m-mdr'-til,  exempt  from 

We  have  seen  th*e  husbandman  scattering. his  seed  up- 
<Hv  the  furrowed  ground  !  It  springs  up,  is  gathered  ir.to 
his  barns,  and  crowns  his  labours  with  joy  and  plenty.— 
Thus  the  man  who  distributes«his  fortune  with  generosity 
and  prudence,  is  amply  repaid  by  the  gratitude**  of  those 
whom  ne  obliges,  by  the  approbation  of  his  own  mind, 
uitJ  by  the  favour  of  Heaven. 

Temperance,  by  fortifying  the  mind  and  body,  leads  to 
hftppiness  :  intemperance,  by  enervating  them,  ends  gen- 
trallj  in  misery. 

Title  and  ancestry  render  a  good  man  more  illustri- 
•ua/  but  an  ill  one,  more  coR^mptible>    Vic^  is  infa* 


Chap.  V.  SzLECT  2fENT£rfc&s,  &c.  S^ 

mous/  though  in  a  prince ;  and  virtue  honourable,  thmigb 
i^  a  peasant. 

An  elevated  cenius,  emploj^cd  in  little  things,  appears 
(to  use  the  simile  of  Longinu^/")  like  the  sun  m  Ins  eve- 
ning declination  :  he  remits  his  splendour,  but  retains  hi* 
magnitude  ;  and  pleases  more,  though  lie  dazzles  less. 

If  envious?  people  "were  to  ask  themselves,  whiifher 
they  would  exchange  their  entire  situations ^N'ith  the  per- 
sons envied,  (I  mean  their  minds,  passions,  notions,  a» 
well  as  their  persons,  fortunes,  and  dignities,'') — 1  pre- 
sume the  selr-love,  common  to  human  nature,  would 
generally  make  them  prefer  their  own  condition. 

We  have  obliged  some  persons  : — very  well  ! — what 
would  we  have  more  ?  Is  not  the  consciousness  of  doing 
good,  a  sufficient  reward  ? 

Do  not  hurt  yourselves  or  others,  by  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure.  Consult  your  whole  nature.  Consider  your- 
selves not  only  as  sensitive,'*  but  as  rational  beings ;  not 
only  as  rational,  but  social ;  not  only  as  social,  but  im- 
mortalJ 

Art  thou  poor? — Show  thyself  active  and  industrious, 
peaceable  and  contented.  Art  thou  wealthy  ?— Show 
thyself  beneficent  and  charitable,  condescending  and  hu- 
mane. 

Though  religion  removes  not  all  the  evils  of  fife,  though? 
it  promises  no  continuance*  of  undisturbed  prosperity, 
Jwnich  indeed  it  were  not  salui'ary'  for  man  always  to  en- 
loy,)  yet,  if  it  mitigates^*  the  evils  which  necessarily  be- 
long to  our  state,  it  may  justly  be  said  to  give  ♦*  rest  to 
them  who  labour  and  are  neavy  laden." 

What  a  smiling  aspect"  does  the  love  of  parents  and 
children,  of  brothers  and  sisters,  of  friendsr  and  relations, 
give  to  every  surrounding  object,  and  every  returning 
aay  !  With  what  a  lustre  does  it  gild  even  the  small  hab- 
itation, where  this  placid^  intercourse  dwells  !  where  such- 
scenes  of  heartfelt  satisfaction  succeed  uninterrupted  to 
one  another ! 

How  many  clear  marks  of  benevolent^  intention  ap- 
pear every  where  around  us  !  What  a  profusion-?  of  beau- 
ty and  ornament  is  poured  forth  on  the  face  of  nature  5 
What  a  magnificentr  spectable  presented  to  the  view  <y 
man !  What  supply  contrived  for  his  wants !  What  c 
variety  of  objects  set  before  hi rn,  to  gratify  his  senses,  in 
employ  his  understanding,  to  entertain  his  imagioatic^ 
lo  cheer  and  gladden  his  heart ! 


M 


BffOMMI  Hbidkk. 


Part  I 


Th«  1top«  of  fVittire  hapj/lmHw  )m  r  perpetuftJ*  §ourM  • 

fK>nflolation  to  good  men.     Under  trouble,  it  roctht  th« 
tnkida;  amidst  tiamptation,  it  supports  their  yirtuc;  nHti 
!•  UlfJir  dyinf  moments,  enables  them  to  say,  **  O  death! 
whMra  18  tliy  sting?  O  grare  !  where  is  thy  victory  T* 


SECTION  VII. 


«  A-srm-i-Ia-oi,    A^JB-i-U'-Bs,  king  of  I 

B|Mrt8,  wos  son  of  Doryjhus,   he 

m&de  war  n^aitist  Artaxerxi.-s 
I  In-eol-cate,  1n-k&r<k4te,  to  impresft 

by  admonition 
•  Mut-io,  m6l'-to,  a  ient«nee  added,   a 

derie* 
i  Ke;-li-fene«,   n^g'-li-j^ns*,  habit  af  i 

heedle«fineiv 
t  ]Voz-iouff«  n^'-sh&«,  hortful,  crimi-  p 

nal 
/  Ar-i»-to-t!e,     ir'-?t- lA-tl,    a    famon^ 

philosopher,  born   at  Stagira,  pre 

ceplor  to  Alexander  the  Great 
j^L'E«-trari«e,  li-»trinje',  a  celebrated 

French  fabulist 
1  Sal  )j,  a&l'-U,  a  e«Iebr&t*d  attttesman 

of  France 
i  Rt-t&in,  ri-tint',  to  keep  tb  mind, 

keep 
^  CooTt-ier,  kirte'-yfir,  one  who  attends 

the  courts  of  prince* 
i  GiMft)  gHt^  visitor,  strangar 


Soc-ra-tes,  sAk'-ri-tAr,  the  n»oet  eel^ 

bratod  nsoral  philosopher,  a  naUn 

of  Athens 
1  Cul-ture,  k&l'-tsh&re,  the  act  of  tmllh 

vution 
Em-i-nent-ly,  Sm'-i^nint-U,    coiie^ 

cuously 
Phil  ipSid-noy,  fir-Hp-sld'-ni,  a  efe1»» 

bruted  militarv  commander 
Zut-phen,  z&t'-f2a,    tiie  name  af  t 

place 
Al-ex-an-der,     Al-2gz  zin'-d^r,    rtm^ 

named  tlie  Great,  king  of  Maeedo» 

nia 
In-fest^  In-f^at',  to  harass,  distorb 
An-to-ni-u8-Pi-us,  in-t^'-ni-fi«-pl-fii^ 

a  celebrated  Roman  Emperor 
Pres-er-va-tion,  pr^z-zlr>v4'-eh5n,  t)M» 

act  of  prescrrjo^ 
I-mag-ine,  i-mid  -jIn,  to  fancy,  «ob» 

trive 
Im -mod-e-ratehr,  )ni-n>6d'-^fo<Hr4l-lA^ 

excessively 


AoESiLAUS,'  king  of  Sparta,  being  asked,  **  Whatthingr 
he  tliought  most  proper  for  boys  to  learn,"  answered- 
**  Those  which  they  ought  to  practise  when  they  come  tr 
b«  men/*  A  wiser  than  Agesilaus  has  inculcated*  th^ 
same  sentiment :  ♦*  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should 
go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it." 

An  Italian  philosopher  expressed  in  his  motto,«  thai 
•  time  was  his  estate."  An  estate  indeed  which  will  pro* 
dace  nothing  without  cultivation  ;  but  which  will  alwavi 
abundantly  repay  the  labours  of  industry,  and  satisfy  tnc 
most  extensive  desires,  if  no  part  of  it  be  suffered  to  lie 
wpste  by  negiigence,«  to  be  overrun  with  noxious'  plants, 
or  laid  out  for  show,  rather  than  use. 

When  Aristotle/  was  asked,  **What  a  man  could  ^:\in 
hv  teHing  a  falsehood,"  he  replied,  "not  to  be  credited 
when  he  speaks  the  truth." 

I/Estfange,!  in  his  Fables,  tells  us  that  a  number  of 
fnHiiCdomc  bay*  ww^  one  day  watching  /W>9s,  «t  th«  ttdcr 


Chagk  1.  SztflCT  9E9TBIVCE9,  Jbe.  97 

of  A  p«nd ;  nnA  ttiat,  m  any  of  them  put  their  hftjid«  sboiui 
the  wftt«*,  they  pelted  tiiem  down  agRm  with  itoneB.— 
One  of  tlie  frogs,  appeafin^  to  tlie  humanity  of  the  hoy»| 
made  this  striking  observation;  "  Children,  you  do  not 
consider,  that  though  this  may  be  sport  to  you,  it  is  death 
to  us." 

Sully,*  the  great  statesman  of  France,  al^vays  retain- 
ed' at  his  tabl ',  in  his  most  prosperous  days,  'the  sam« 
frugality  to  which  lie  had  been  accustomed  in  early  life. 
He  was  frequently  reproached,  by  the  courtiers,;  for 
this  simplicity  ;  but  he  used  to  reply  to  them,  in  ti)e  Txords 
of  an  ancient  philosopher:  *' If  the  guests*  are  men  of 
sense,  there  is  sufficient  for  them :  if  they  are  not,  1  can 
Tery  well  dispense  with  their  company." 

Bocrates,'  though  primarily  attentive  to  the  cnUure**  of 
his  mind,  was  not  negligent  of  his  external  appearance. 
His  cleanliness  resulted  from  those  ideas  of  order  and 
decency,  which  governed  all  his  actions ;  and  the  otirc 
which  ne  took  of  his  health,  from  his  desire  to  preserve 
his  mind  free  and  tranquil. 

Eminently  pleasing  and  honourable  was  the  friendship 
between  David  and  Jonathan.  *'  1  am  distressed  for  thee, 
my  brother  Jonathan,"  said  the  plaintive  and  surviving 
David ;  **  very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  to  me  :  thy  love 
for  me  was  wonderful ;  passing  the  love  of  women." 

Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  at  the  battle  near  Zutphen,p  was 
wounded  by  a  musKct  ball,  which  broke  the  bone  of  his 
thigh.  Be  was  carried  about  a  mile  and  a  half,  to  the 
camp ;  and  bein^  faint  with  the  loss  of  blood,  and  prob- 
ably parched  witn  thirst  through  the  heat  of  tiie  weather, 
he  called  for  drink.  It  was  immediately  brought  to  him : 
but,  as  he  was  putting  the  vessel  to  his  mouth,  a  poor 
wounded  soldier,  who  happened  at  that  instant  to  be  car- 
ried by  him,  looked  up  to  it  with  wishful  eyes.  The  gal- 
lant and  generous  Sidney  took  the  bottle  from  his  mouth, 
and  delivered  it  to  the  soldier,  saying,  "  Thy  necessity  is 
yet  greater  than  mine." 

Alexander?  the  Great,  dem.anded  of  a  pirate,  whom  he 
had  tak«n,by  what  right  he  infested'*  the  se^as  ]  "  By  the 
same  right,"  replied  ne,  **  that  Alexander  enslaves  the 
world.  But  1  am  caUed  a  robber,  because  I  have  only 
one  small  vessel;  and  he  is  styled  a  conqueror,  because 
he  commands  great  fleets  ana  armies."  We  too  ofteQ 
judp.  of  m^  by  the  splendour,  and  not  by  the  merit  ok 
their  aotiona. 

D 


Sii  English  RfiAMca*  f^xrt  |^ 

Antotltnus  Plus/  the  Roman  Emperor,  waaan  amiabte 
and  good  man.  When  any  of  his  courtiers  attempted 
to  inflame  him  witb  a  passion  for  military  glory,  he  used 
to  answer :  **  That  he  more  desired  the  preservation^  of 
one  subject,  than  the  destruction  of  a  thousand  enemies. 

Men  are  too  often  ingenious  in  making  theniselves  mis- 
erable, byaggravatingto  their  own  fancy,  beyond  bounds, 
all  the  evils  which  they  endure.  They  compare  them- 
gelves  with  none  but  those  whom  they  imagine"  to  be 
more  happy ;  and  complain,  that  upon  them  alone  has 
fallen  the  w^hole  load  of  human  sorrows.  Would  they 
look  with  a  more  impartial  eye  on  the  world,  they  would 
see  themselves  surrounded  with  sufferers ;  and  find  that 
they  are  only  drinking  out  of  that  mixed  cup,  which  pro- 
Tidence  has  prepared  for  all.  *'  I  will  restore  thy  daugh* 
ter  again  to  life,'*  said  the  eastern  sage  to  a  prmce  who' 
grieved  immoderately  for  the  loss  of  a  heloved  child, 
**  provided  thou  art  able  to  engrave  on  her  tomb,  the 
names  of  three  persons  who  have  never  mourned."  The 
prince  made  inquiry  after  such  persons ;  but  found  the 
inquiry  vain,  and  was  silent. 

SECTION  Vlll. 


o  Wrath,  rith,  or  fith,  anger,  fury,  rnge 
if  Stall,  slAll,  to  keep  in  a  stall  or  sta 

ble,  a  crib  in  wJiich  an  ox  is  fed 
g  Ke-buke,  ri'  biike',  to  chide,  reprehend 


d  En-e-iny,  fm'-hmh,  a  foe 
«  Righ-te-ou8,  ri'-tsh^-fis,  juBt,  virtuout 
/  Sluggard,  slftg'-gurd,  an  inactive,  la 
zy  fellow 


He  that  hath  no  rule  over  his  own  spirit,  is  like  a  city 
that  is  broken  down,  and  without  walls. 

A  softer  answer  turneth  away  wrath ;«  but  grevious 
words  stir  up  anger. 

Better  is  a  dinner  of  herbs  where  love  is,  than  a  stal- 
led* ox  and  hatred  therewith. 

Pride  goeth  before  destruction  ;  and  a  haughty  spirit 
before  a  Tall. 

Hear  council,  and  receive  instruction,  that  thou  mayest 
be  truly  wise. 

Faitnful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend  ;  but  the  kisses  of 
an  enemy  are  deceitful.  Open  rebuke*  is  better  than  se^ 
cret love. 

Seest  thou  a  man  wise  in  his  own  conceit  ?  There  if 
more  hope  of  a  fool  than  of  him. 

He  that  is  slow  to  anger,  is  better  than  the  mighty  ;  and 
he  tkat  ruktb  his  spirit,  thai»  he  that  taketh  ts  city. 


Chap.  U  SELECT  Sente:vcbi. 

He  that  h«th  t>ity  on  the  poor,  lendeth  to  the  Lord 
that  which  he  iiatn  given,  will  he  pay  him  a^cain, 

Jf  thine  enemy'  he  hungry,  give  him  hread  to  eat ;  and 
If  he  he  thirsty,  give  him  water  to  drink. 

He  that  planted  the  ear,  shaH  he  not  hear?  lie  that 
formed  the  eye,  shall  he  not  set*. '/ 

I  have  heen  youngs  and  now  J  am  old  ;  yet  ha^e  I  nev- 
er seen  the  righteous*  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging 
bread. 

it  is  better  to  he  a  door-keeper  in  the  house  of  the 
Lord,  tlian  to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  wickedness. 

1  have  seen  the  vrlcked  in  great  power;  andupreadinc 
himself  like  a  green  bay-tree.  Yet  he  passed  away  :  1 
Bought  him,  but  he  eould  not  l»e  found. 

Happy  is  the  man  that  findtth  wisdom.  Length  of 
days  IS  in  her  right  hand  ;  and  in  her  left  hand,  Fiches  anil 
honour.  Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantnessy  aud  ail  her 
paths  are  peace. 

How  good  and  how  pleasant  it  is  for  bi-etiiren  to  dwell 
together  in  unity  !  It  is  like  precious  ointment ;  like  th« 
dew  of  Hermon,  and  tlie  dev/  that  descended  upon  tlm 
mountains  of  Zion. 

The  sluggard,'"  will  not  plough  by  reason  &i  the  col<$; 
ke  shall  therefore  beg  in  harvest,  and  have  nothinjj. 

1  went  by  the  ftela  of  the  slothful,  and  by  the  vineyard 
of  the  man  void  of  understanding  :  and  to  !  it  was  all 
grown  over  with  thorns  ;  nettles  had  covered  its  face  : 
and  the  stone  wall  was  broken  down.  Then  I  saw,  ana 
considered  it  well  :  I  looked  upon  it,  and  received  iiv» 
itruction. 

Honourable  age  is  not  that  which  standeth  in  length  o^ 
time ;  nor  that  which  is  measured  by  number  of  years  ; 
But  wisdom  is  the  grey  hair  to  man  ;  and  an  unspotted 
life  is  old  age. 

Solomon,  my  son,  know  thou  the  God  of  thy  fathers  ; 
and  serve  him  with  a  perfect  heart  and  with  a  willing 
pnind.  If  thou  seek  him,  he  will  be  t-ovmd  of  thee  j.  but 
if  thou  forsake  him,  he  will  cast  the©'  idW  i'or  ever. 

SECTION  IX. 


«  Ex-pe-ri-encc,  Sks  pi'-ri-5nse,  prac 

tice,  to  try 
I  Im-par-tial-iy,  Jn>plr'-filiAl-li,   equi 

tably,  justly 


•  Cbor-i8h,uhir'-riah,U>  BupportfSheltMl        to  virtua 


d  Nuur-ish,     n4r'-r!rih,    t«.  lupport  bf 

tood 
e  Pi-e-ty,  pi'-i-t4,duty  to  God  or  parentf 
/  Rcp-ro-bater  rey'-pr6-b4te,  a  tuan  mm 


40  Enough  Reai>zr.  Pari  K 


%'oid  of  rnoaninf 

h  Sub-or-di-ria-iion,  sfib-ir-di-ni-'-shfin. 
inferiority  of  rank 

9  Mo-tive,  mA'-Uv,  iqducemcnt,  causing 
rootifMi 

j>  Ir»-flu-encc,  1n'-fl6-2nse,  ascendan 
power,  to  act  upon 

k  0e-prav-i-ty,  d^-priv'-i-t^,  corrup- 
tion 


7  Prev-a-Umi,   prSr'.vi-Hnl,    prodoml 

nniu 
r  Syin-pa-thy,s!m'-pi-tlaA,  fellow   fw^ 

s  Novelty,  n6\ir'-vM-i4,   B^wnesSf  ia 

novation 
t  In-no-cenl,  In'-n4-jj5nt,    pure,  hana« 

less 
Ab-so-lnte,     ab'-s6-ii>t»,    eompletey 

positive 


I  Tm-pe-ri-ou!«,  !m-^'-r^-Jis,  tyrannical  ©  As-cen-dant,  4s-s*^n'-d^nl,  height,  in- 
«lt  K.e-cep-ta-cle,  r^-fcSp'-t4-k),   a  placcl        fluencc.  superiour 

for  receiving  ijc  Impair,  !m-p^re',  to, dinvinlnh,  injuf* 

ft  Ue-pug-nant,  ri-pu^'-nint,  celactant 'z  Vice,  vise,  ilio  oppojw.te  to  virtue 

contrary  U  Ve-ni-al,  \k'  lie-ii!,  p»r4ona)>]e 

#  Can-ton,  kin'-tfin,  to  diviil©  into  littltf'j  Affio-i-ty,   Af-flu'-n^-ti,  relation  by 

parts,  a  part  [        marriaga 

f  Sloth,  slAth;  laziness  1 

That  ever^^  day  has  Us  pams  and  sorrows  is  wntversal- 
\y  experienced,"  and  almost  universally  confessed.  But 
let  us  not  attend  only  to  mournful  truths  :  if  we  look  im- 
partially'' about  us,  we  shall  find,  that  every  day  has  like- 
wise its  pleasures  and  its  joya. 

We  should  cherish'^^  sentiments  of  charity  to^vards  all 
men.  The  Author  of  all  j^ood  nourishes"^  much  piety*, 
and  virtue  in  hearts  that  are  unknown  to  us  ;  and  beholds 
repentance  ready  to  spring  up  among  many,  whom  we 
consider  as  reprobates./ 

No  one  ought  to  consider  himself  as  jnsi^niftcaat^  in 
the  sight  of  his  Creator.  *  In  our  several  stations,  we  are 
all  sent  forth  to  be  labourers  in  the  vineyard  of  our  heav- 
enly Father,  Every  m^an  has  his  work  allotted,  his  talent 
committed  to  him ;  by  the  due  improvement  of  which 
he  may  in  one  way  or  other,  serve  God,  promote  virtue, 
and  be  useful  in  the  world. 

The  love  of  praise  should  be  preserved  un(j€r  proper 
subordination*  to  the  principle  ot  djjty.  In  itself,  it  is  a 
useful  motive*  to  action  ;  but  when  allowed  to  extend  its 
influence^  too  far,  it  corrupts  the  whole  character,  and 
produces  guilt,  disgrace,  and  misery.  To  be  entirely 
destitute  of  it,  is  a  defect.  To  be  governed  by  It,  is  de- 
pravity.''^  The  proper  adjustment  of  the  several  princi- 
ples of  action  in  human  nature  is  a  matter  that  deserveg 
our  highest  attention.  For  when  any  one  of  them  be- 
comes too  weak  or  too  strong,  it  endangers  both  our  vir- 
twe  and  our  happiness. 

The  desires  and  passions  of  a  vicious  man,  having;  once 
obtained  an  unlimited  si^'ay  tramp]«  him  under  their  feet. 


Thej  makt  him  feel  that  he  is  subject  to  rarloua.  c«»n- 
tradictory,  and  imperious'  masters,  ivho  often  pull  him 
dijSeretit  ways..  His  soul  is  rendered  the  recep*tacle»»  of 
many  repugnant"  and  jarring  dispositions ;  and  resem- 
bles some  barbarous  country,  cantoned*  out  into  different 
principalities,  which  are  continually  waging  war  on  ona 
another* 

Diseases,  poverty,  disappointment,  and  shame,  are  far 
from  being,  in  every  instance,  the  unavoidable  doom  of 
man.  They  are  much  more  frequently  the  offspring  of 
his  own  misguided  choice.  Intemperance  engenders  dis- 
ease, sloth''  produces  poverty,  pride  creates  disappoint- 
ments, and  dishonesty  exposes  to  shame.  The  ungov- 
eined  passions  of  men  betray  them  into  a  thousand  fol- 
lies; their  follies  into  crimes;  and  their  crimes  into  mis- 
fortunes. 

When  we  reflect  on  the  many  distresses  which  abound 
in  human  life  ;  on  the  scanty  proportion  of  happiness 
which  any  man  is  here  allowed  to  enjoy  ;  on  the  small 
difference  which  the  diversity  of  fortune  makes  on  that 
scanty  proportion  ;  it  is  surprising,  that  envy  should  ever 
have  been  a  prevalent?  passion  among  men,  much  more 
that  it  should  have  prevailed  among  Christians.  Where 
so  much  is  suffered  in  common,  little  room  is  left  for  er»- 
ry.  Thei^e  is  more  occasion  for  pity  and  sympathy^,  and 
inclination  to  assist  each  other. 

At  our  first  setting  out  in  life,  when  yet  unacquainted 
with  the  worid  and  its  snares,  when  every  pleasure  en- 
chants with  its  smile,  and  every  object  shines  with  the 
gloss  of  novelty,'  let  us  beware  of  the  seducing  appear- 
ances which  suVround  us  ;  and  recollect  what  others  hav« 
iufftir^d  from  the  power  of  headstrong  desire.  If  we  aJ- 
Jew  any  passion,  eren  though  it  be  esteemed  innocent,*  to 
acquire  an  absolute"  ascendant,"  our  inward  peace  will  be 
impaired."'  But  if  any,  which  has  the  taint  of  guilt,  take 
early  possession  of  our  mind,  we  may  date,  from  that 
moment,  the  ruin  of  our  tranquillity. 

Every  man  has  some  darling  passion,  which  generally 
affords  the  first  introduction  to  vice.=^"  The  irregular  gra- 
tHications,  into  which  it  occasionally  seduces  him,  appear 
nnder  the  form  of  venialv  weaknesses ;  and  are  indulgedi 
hi  the  beginning,  with  scrupulousness  and  reserve.  But, 
by  lonj^ar  practice,  these  restraints  weaken,  and  the  pow- 
er of  habit  rrows.  One  Tice  bring?  m  another  to  it*  add, 
B]r «  Bori  of  natural  affinitj^  they  cenneet  aim]  tatwttiti 


KHiSLISH   KbaDEIU 


Pnri  %. 


fhemselvee  together ;  till  their  roots  come  to  be  B«)ro{»/f 
■<ride  and  deep  over  all  the  soul. 


SECTION  X. 


a  Av-mo3-phere,    At'-mus-fire,  the 
tliat  encompasses  the  earth 

b  In-clem-eiit,  lu-klSm'-ment,  unmerci- 
ful, rugged 

e  De-bil-i  ly,  dfe-bU'-^-t^,  feebleness, 
veakne!^ 

d  Im-p*>-tent,  !iB'-|>A-l2nt,  feebie,  weak 

t  Ad-ver-si-ty,  4.d-v5r'-s^-t^,  calumjty, 
misery 

/  L»-C6ii-tJous,ll-s2n'-shfls,w»»cstrainetl 

g^  Rev-el,  rSv'-Sl,  lo  carouse,  riot 

A  Des-o-late,  datj'-si-iilc,  uuitthabited 

«   A-d»«u,  A-du',  farewell 

j  Fa-mil-iar-ize,  fA-mlJ'-y4r-lze',  to 
make  easy  by  habitude 

k  Ab-hor-renee,  &b-h6r'-xSnse,  detesta- 
tion 

I  Vi-cis-si-tude,  vA-sls'-i-titde,  change 
succession 

m  In-ure,  Inure',  to  habituate,  to  mak( 
ready  or  willing  by  cuatour,  to  ac 
custom 


n  Vum-i-ty,  vAn'-^-t^,  emptiness,  petty 
pride 

0  Sal-u-ta-ry,  sil'-li-ti-r^,  wholeaome, 
sate 

p  U)i-sat-is-fac-tor-y,  ftn-sit-tls-fik'- 
t&r-i!;,  noi  salisfactory 

7  Fa-tal,  fa'-tal,  destructive,  inevita- 
ble 

r  Wur-thy,  wSr'-th^,  deserving,  valu'" 
able 

.5  Re-conrse,  r^-kirse',  application  for 
help,  access 

t  In-teg-ri-ty,  in-tSg'-r^-ti,  honesty,  pu- 
rity 

a  A-mi-a-ble,  i'-m^-ibl,  lovely,  pleas- 
ing 

V  rn-ter-course,!n'-l§f-k6rse,  commerces 

<^Nui-sance,  nii'-sinse,  someiiiing  of- 
fensive 

x  Pro-pen-si-fy,  pr6-p2n'-Bi-t^,  inclina- 
tion, pronenesd 

y  Ardent,  2ir'-dent,  vehement,  zealou*' 


Whence  arises  the  misery  f>f  this  present  world  ?  It 
b  not  owing  to  our  cloudy  atmosphere/*  our  changing 
fceasons  and  inclement*  skies.  It  is  not  owing  to  the  de- 
bilityc  of  our  bodies,  or  to  the  unecuial  distribution  of  the 
goods  of  fortune.  Amidst  all  disadvantages  of  this  kind, 
a  pure,  a  steadfast,  and  enlightened  mind,  possessed  of 
•trong  virtue,  could  enjoy  itself  in  peace,  and  smile  at  the 
impotent'^  assaults  of' fortune  and  the  elements.  It  i* 
within  ourselves  that  misery  has  fixed  its  seat.  Our  dis- 
ordered  hearts,  our  guilty  passions,  our  violent  prejudices, 
and  misplaced  de.«ircs,  are  the  instruments  of  the  trouble 
which  we  endure.  These  sharpen  the  darts  which  ad- 
versity would  otherwise  point  in  vain  against  us. 

While  the  vain  and  the  licentious/ are  revelling;?  in  the 
midst  of  extravagance  and  riot,  how  little  do  they  think 
of  those  scenes  ot  sore  distress  which  are  passing  at  that 
jnoment  throughout  the  Avorld  ;  multitudes  strugghng  for 

poor  subsistence,  to  support  the  wife  and  children  wliom 
*ney  love,  and  who  look  up  to  them  with  eager  eyes  for 
that  bread  which  they  can  hardly  procure  ;  multitudes 
groaning  under  sickness  in  desolate*  cottages,  untended 
and  unmouroed }  many,  apparently  in  a  better  situation 


^kajL  i.  Select  SEirrK^cxs*  dco.  40 

of  life,  pining  away  in  secret  with  concealed  grieft  :  fe- 
inilies  weeping  over  the  beloved  friends  whom  they  navo- 
lost,  orin  all  tne  bitterness  of  anguish,  bidding  those  whe- 
are  just  expiring,  the  last  adieu.' 

Kever  adventure  on  too  near  an  approach  to  what  is 
evil.  Familiarizey  not  yourselves  witli  it,  in  the  slightest 
instances,  without  fear.  Listen  with  reverence  to  every 
reprehension  of  conscic.iee  ;  and  preserve  the  most  quiet 
and  accurate  srnsibility  to  rij;:;ht  and  wrong.  If  ever  your 
moral  impressions  be^nn  to  decay,  and  your  natural  ib- 
iiorr^^nce^  of  guilt  to  lessen,  you  have  ground  to  dread 
that  the  ruin  of  virtue  is  fast  approaching. 

l^y  disappointments  and  trials  the  violence  of  our  pas- 
sions is  tamed,  and  our  minds  are  formed  to  sobriety  and 
redection.  Jn  the  varieties  of  life,  occasioned  by  tlie  vi- 
cissitudes' of  worldly  fortune^  we  are  inured^  to  habits 
both  of  the  active  and  the  suffering  virtues.  How  much 
soever  we  complain  of  the  vanity  of  the  world,  facta 
plainly  show,  that  if  its  vanity  were  less,  it  could  not  an- 
swer the  purpose  of  salutary  discipline.  Unsatisfactory^ 
as  it  is,  its  pleasures  are  still  too  apt  to  corrupt  our  hearts. 
How  fatal'/  then  must  the  consetjuences  have  been,  had 
it  yielded  us  more  complete  enjoyment  ?  If,  with  all  its 
troubles,  we  are  in  danger  of  beinjr  too  much  attached  to 
it,  how  entirely  would  it  have  seduced  our  affections,  if 
no  troubles  had  been  mingled  witli  its  pleasures  ? 

In  seasons  of  distress  or  difiiculty,  to  abandon  ouirselves 
to  dejection,  carries  no  tnark  of  agreat  or  aworthy^'mind. 
Instead  of  sinki«jij  under  trouble,  and  declaring  *'  that  hi» 
Koul  is  weary  of  life,"  it  becomes  a  wise  and  a  good  man,, 
in  the  evil  day,  with  firmness  to  maintain  his  post:  to  bear 
tip  against  the  storm  ;  to  have  recourse*  to  those  advantages 
which,  in  the  wo^rst  of  times,  are  always  left  to  integrity*  and 
virtue  ;  aod  never  to  give  up  the  hope  that  better  uays  may 
yet  arise. 

How  many  young  persons  have  at  first  set  out  in  the- 
world  with  excellent  dispositions  of  heart ;  generous,  chari- 
table, and  humane  ;  kind  to  their  friends,  and  amiable"  a- 
mong  all  with  whom  they  had  intercourse" !  And  yet  how 
often  have  we  seen  all  those  fair  appearances  unhappily 
blasted  in  the  progress  of  life,  merely  through  the  influ* 
I'.nce  of  loose  and  corrupting  pleasures  :  and  those  very 
persons,  who  promised  once  to  be  blessings  to  the  world! 
Hunk  dowot  in  the  end,  to  le  the  burd^a  and  aubancat'  of 
KDcift)ty  i 


£{fOLI5«   itEADXR. 


Port  1 


Tb©  most  common  propensity*  of  mankind,  fs,  to  store 
futurity  with  whatever  is  agreeable  to  them  ;  especially 
\n  those  periods  of  life,  when  imagination  is  lively»  ana 
bope  is  ardent.!/  Looking  forward  to  the  year  now  negin- 
ning,  thev  are  ready  to  promise  themselves  much,  from 
the  foundations  of  prosperity  which  they  have  laid  ;  from 
the  friendships  and  ccmnexions  which  they  have  secured  y 
and  from  the  plans  of  conduct  w^iich  they  have  formed. 
Alas  1  how  deceitful  do  ail  these  dreams  of  happinet^s  of- 
ten prove  !  While  many  are  saying  in  secr^it  to  their 
hearts,  **  To-morrow  shall  be  as  this  day,  and  more 
abundantly,''  w^e  are  obliged  in  return  to  say  to  them; 
**  Boast  not  yourselves  of  to-morrow  ;  for  you  know  not 
what  a  day  may  bring  lorth  !** 


CHAPTER  II. 


SECTION  L 


•  IH-««n3r«-i-n8,dl-i-n!Bh  i-fis.lhe  tyrant 

of  Sicily  and  enemy  of  Carthago 
t  Dem-O'cles,  d&ni'-mi-kl<'>z,  one  of  the 

flatterers  of  Dionysius 
«  Bpo-cious,  Bpi'-Bhfis,  showy,  plausibl* 
d  Com-pU-meiit,  k6in'-pl&-in^nt,  an  act 

of  civihty,  to  flatter 

•  Bano-uet,  bftnk'-kwgt,  a  feast,  to  fea: 
/  Bo-ta,  s6'-fi,  a  splendid  seat  covered 

with  carpets 
g  Em-broi-der-y,     *m-br6^/-d5r-4,    va 

regated  needle  work 
k  Paje,  pije,  a  boy  attending  on  a  great 


person,  one  grde  of  a  leaf 
Fra-g/ani,  fri'-gr4nt,  of  «weet  fnitlt 

odorous 
j  Cbap-lct,    tshAp'-l5t,     a  garland,  or 

wreath 
/;  Ex-tiui-site,  £ks  -kw6-z!t,    excellent 

consninniuto 
Im-pend,  iiii  |i«nd',  to  bang  over 
I  Vi-'nnd,  vi'-und,  food,  meat  drt.-ssed 
n  Gar-land,  gLr'-lirid^  a  wreath  offlow- 

e..s 
ij  Trcits  nro,  trSzh'  ura.  wealth  hoarded, 

to  hoard 


No  rank  or  possessions  can  make  the  guilty  mind  happy. 

\.  injYONYSlUS.a  the  tyrant  of  Sicily,  was  (nr 
3J  from  heing  happy,  thou^^h  he  possessed  great 
«lcnes,  and  all  the  pleasurt;s  -which  wealth  and  power 
Could  procure.  Damocles,^  one  of  his  flatterers,  deceiv- 
ed by  those  specious'^  appearances  of  happinese,  took  oc- 
casion to  compliment''  him  on  the  extent  of  his  power, 
lite   tveasureit  and  royal  xaa^i£lc€(>ce  i  and  declared  that 


Chap.  IB.  WaRUATIVE  PlE€Et«  46 

no  monarch  had  ever  been  greater  or  happier  than  Dkw 

nysius. 

£.  "*  Hast  thou  a  mind,  Damocles,"  says  the  king,  ••  ttt 
taste  this  happiness ;  and  to  know,  by  experience,  what 
the  enjoyments  are,  of  which  thou  hast  so  high  an  idea  ]*• 
J)amocles,  with  joy,  accepted  the  offer      The  king  order- 


<  d  that  a  royal  banquet'  should  be  nrepared,  and  a  eil- 
ded  sofa,/  covered  with  rich  embroiaery»ir  placed  for  nit 
favourite.     Side  boards,  loaded  with  gold  and  silver  plate 


cif  immense  value,  were  iirranjred  in  the  apartment. 

S.  Pages'"  of  extraordinary  beauty  were  ordered  to  at- 
tend his  table,  and  to  obey  his  commands  with  the  ut- 
most readiness,  and  the  most  profound  submission.  Fra- 
grant' ointments,  chaplets./  o  111  owe  rs,  and  rich  perfumesj 
were  added  to  the  entertainment.  The  table  was  loadea 
with  the  most  exquisite^  delicacies  of  every  kind.  Damo- 
<  les,  intoxicated  with  pleasure,  fai>cie4  him.self  amongst 
FuperioT  beings. 

4.  Hut  in  the  midst  -of  all  this  happiness,  as  he  lay  in- 
dulging liimself  in  state,  he  sees  let  clown  from  the  ceilinp, 
exactly  over  his  head,  a  glittering  sword  hung  by  a  singit 
Jiair.  The  sight  of  impendiii^'  destruction  put  a  speedy 
r.nd  to  his  joy  and  revelling.  The  pomp  of  his  attenaance, 
tne  glitter' or  the  carved  plate,  and  the  dehcacy  of  the 
>  iands,«  cease  to  afford  him  any  pleasure. 

5.  lie  dreads  to  stretch  forth  his  hand  to  the  table.— 
He  throws  off  the  garland"  of  roses.  He  hastens  to  re- 
move from  his  dangemus  situation  ;  and  earnestly  en- 
treats the  king  to  restore  him  to  hijt  former  humble  con- 
dition, having  no  <iesire  to  enjoy  any  longer  a  happinesi 
so  terrible. 

6.  By  this  device,  Dionysius  intimated  to  Damocles 
Jiow  miserable  he  was  in  the  midst  of  all  his  treasures;* 
and  in  possession  of  all  the  honours  and  enjoyment* 
which  royalty  could  bestow.  cicero. 


0  Jo-t^m,  j6'-r&m,  a  king  of  Israel 

^  Ben-ha-dad,   bSri-ha'-tJ4d,  &   king  of 

Syria 
€  I-dol-a-ter,  1  d6r-li-t5r,  one  who  wor- 

ehips  iniajre>! 


SECTION  II. 

5-  Tyr-aii-ny,  l?r'-r4n-*,    cruel  govern* 

ment 
^  In-dig-na-tion,  ln-d!g-ni.'-«h8n,  angei 

mingled  with  disgust 
7  Predict,  pr^-dlkt',  to  foretell, forcehow 


^  l8-«ue,  fsh'-tihii,  to  eome  out,  j»Toceed,ij  Jc  lio-a-haz,   ji-lii'-4.-l)4z,   a  king  ot 

to  send  out  j        I^raeI. 

■4  Haz-a-ei,  hiz'-4-21,  one  of  the  kingd  A:  Trnns-foim,  tr&ns-fdrm',  to    ctangt 

of  Syria  ,  1        foroi,  tobaciianged 

/PwKpkWick,  pfA^lt'-ttiA    fcre«8«iBj^/fa  iq-ui-ty,    !o-!k' kvtii-tJ,    wpMU90, 

or  forefC'Mit^  vnsdlie>dne€e,  Qrua« 


49  English  Ueadkr.  Fart  1 

Chftnf^e  of  external  condUion  is  often  adveT9s  to  virtue* 

1.  liT  the  (lays  ofJoramrt  kinji;  of  Israel,  flourished  the 
prophet  KUsha.  His  character  was  so  enirnent,  and  his 
fame  s*o  widely  spread,  that  IJenhadad,''  thinking  of  Syr- 
ia, thoujijh  aii*idohiter,c  sent  to  consult  him,  concernmg 
the  isHue«<  of  a  distemper  which  threatened  his  life.  The 
inesscnt^er  employed  on  this  occasion  was  llazael,«who 
appears  to  have  f)een  one  of  the  princes,  or  chief  men  of 
tne  Syrian  court. 

2.  Oharp;ed  with  rich*jr;ift"S  from  the  king;,  he  presents 
himself  hefore  the  prophet;  and  accosts  him  in  terms  of 
the  hip;liest  respect.  During;  the  confwrence  which  they 
held  toj^ether,  lilisha  flxt^l  his  eyes  stedfastly  on  the 
conntei.ance  of  ll.jzncl  ;  and  discerniri};,  l.»y  a  prophetic/ 
spirit,  liis  future  tyranny;/"  and  cruelty,  he  could  not  con- 
tain himself  from  hurstuip;iiito  a  flood  of  tears. 

8.  VVhc.n  lla/»u'l,  in  surprise,  innuired  into  the  cause  of 
this  sudden  emotion,  the  prophet  plainly  informed  him  of 
the  crimes  and  barl)arities,  which  he  foresaw  that  he  would 
afterwards  commit.  Tlie  soul  of  llazael  ahhorrcid,  at  this 
time,  thoupjhts  of  cruelty.  IJncorrupted,  as  yet,  by  am- 
bition or  greatness,  hisindignationA  rose  at  bemg  thought 
capable  of  the  savage  actions  which  the  pro])het  had 
mentioned  ;  and  with  nuich  warmth  he  replies ;  **  But 
ivhat  /  is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  should  uo  this  great 
thing  ?" 

4.  lOlisha  makes  no  return,  but  to  point  out  a  remark- 
able chinige,  whien  was  to  take  ])lace  in  his  condition 
•*The  Lord  hath  shown  me,  that  thou  shalt  be  king  over 
Syria.'*  In  coufse  of  time,  all  that  had  been  predic- 
ted* came  to  pass,  llii'/ael  ascended  the  throne,  and  am- 
bition took  possession  of  his  heart.  *'  JI<^  smote  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  in  all  their  coasts.  He  oppressed  them  du- 
ring all  the  days  of  king  Jehoahaz>  :'*  and,  from  what  is 
left  on  record  of  his  actions,  he  plainly  appears  to  have 
proved,  what  the  prophet  foresaw  him  to  oe,  a  man  of 
▼iolence,  cruelty,  and  blood. 

5.  In  this  ]>assage  of  history  an  object  is  presented, 
which  des-erves  our  serious  attention.  We  behold  a  man 
who,  in  one  state  of  life,  could  not  look  upon  certain 
crimes  without  surprise  and  horror  ;  who  knew  so  little  oC 
^intself,  as  to  believe  it  impossible  for  him  ever  to  be  con- 
cerned in  com;nitting  them  ;  that  same  man,  by  a  change 
of<x>rKlitJou,  and  an  unguardcwd  state  of  miod,  transform- 


Chap,  t.  Narrative  Piecbs.  4T 

ed*  in  all  his  -erntinientj* ;  and  hs  he  roeo  In  CTcatness,  rw 
in{5  also  in  Euilt ;  till  at  last  lie  conmlctcd  that  Vfhoi^ 
cJiaracter  of  iniquity/  which  he  once  detested. 


SECTION  III. 

a  A-h«i«-o-«-rux,  i-hAzh-u-i'-rJm,    kitigj  Ex  tcr  ml  nato,    *ki-t*r'-m*n4to,    to 

of  IVTHia  I  (Jrslroy 

h  Ar-m  .xcrx-('8,    fcrtA-rirkn'*/.,    k'wg  k  Do-cu-'O,  d*-kr^^',  an  wlirt,  a  inw 

~ Y.^iu,  lio  Mucctjjudud  Ins  fullivr  /  I:5ut>-inis Dion,    »{\b-mliih''&n,   rmifn*- 


X«rxi!d 
c  Ila-mdii,  liA-mAn,  a  tniniiiter  uf  tho 

Pornian  court 
d  S(ir-vil«',  i»«*r'  v!l,  vlaviKh,  m<uin 
t  Il(>iii-ri{;u,  h6iir-Aj(»,  norvico,  rcqtrrt 
/  i'roH-iralo,  pr6u'-irAl«',  lo  full   down 

ill  ndorntioii,  lyinx  ut  len<;th 
g^  Ad-u  iu-lioii,  Ad  "j/i-Wi'-flifiii,  tlnllory 
A  Mor-di)  cai,  iiidr'  <l*-k.\,  a  cuicLiiiled 

Jow 
i  Rov-or-rnco,  r£v'-^r-iiue,  vonoratiun, 

to  vunuikio 


tioii,  obudietico  :^ 

in  Ut-inorit,  fii'-in6iit,  oxtrome,  tho  nfUH 

that  run  lio 
n  Tri-iiinph,   til'-ftinf,   pomp  or  joj  for 

vl<'tory.  to  exult 
o  A{,'-<»-iiy,  A^'-6  ni^,  nnpuinh,  mhttf 
p  Zu-roidi,  •/.k'-t^hU,  tho  wilu  (ifllainoa 
y  Pro  iuii-hr»',  pri'  Am-lil,  intruductioB  ^•';.'|: 
r  Su  «|U(>I,  t^'-tjwJII,  Hucccedingnort 
M  Troiin,    pr6no,    inclinod    to,  bondlnf 
'||j06v\*nward 


Hainan  ;  or,  the  misery  of  pride, 

1.  AiiASUKKUS,"  who  is  sijpposea  to  he  the  princo 
known  anions  th<;  Greek  historiaps  hy  the  name  of  Ar- 
taxeixt'S,*  had  advanct^d  to  the  r.hief  aij:;nity  in  his  king- 
dom, llanian/  an  Amalekite,  who  inherited  all  the  an- 
cient (Muuity  of  his  race  to  the  Jewish  nation,  lie  ap- 
pears, fnnu'wiiat  is  recorded  of  him,  to  have  heen  a  verjr 
wickr'd  minister.  Jiaised  lo  j^reatness  without  merit,  ho 
employed  his  power  solely  for  the  grutification  of  his 
passions. 

2.  As  the  honours  which  he  possessed  were  next  to 
royal,  his  nride  was  every  day  fed  with  that  servile'^  horn- 
aj^e,*  whieli  is  peculiar  to  Asiatic  courts  ;  and  all  the  ser- 
vants of  the  kinj^  prostrated/ themselves  before  him.  In 
the  midst  of  this  p;eneral  adulation^  one  person  onjy 
stooped  not  to  llaman. 

8.  This  was  Mordecai*  the  Jew;  who,  knowing  thii 
Amalekite  to  be  an  enemy  to  the  people  of  God,  and 
with  virtuous  indignation,  despising  that  insolence  ol 
prosperity  with  which  he  saw  him  lifted  up,  *'  bowed  not, 
nor  did  him  reverence.'"  On  this  appearance  of  disre- 
spect from  Mordecai,  ILiman  **  was  full  of  wrath  :  but  hti 
tnought  scorn  to  lay  hantls  on  Mordecai  alone.*' 

4.  Personal  revenge  was  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  hus. 
t3o  violent  and  black  ivere  hib  passions,  that  he  r«aolf«<i 


45  09CHLi8a  BjupBAf  Fmt  \ 

l»  cxtwiijh\at«/  the  whole  nation  tjo  which  Mordecai  b©» 

lonced.  Abuljing,  for  his  cruel  purpose,  the  farour  of  hit 
credulous  sovereign,  he  obtained  adecree*  to  be  sent  forth, 
tliat,  against  a  certain  day,  all  the  Jews  throughout  th« 
Persian  dominions  should  be,  put  to  the  sword. 

5.  Meanwhile,  confident  of  success,  and  blind  to  ap- 
proaching ruin,  he  continued  exulting  in  his  prosperity. 
Invited  by  Ahasuerus  to  a  royal  banquet,  which  Esther 
the  queen  had  preparecl,  **  he  went  forth  that  day  joyful, 
and  with  a  glad  heart."  But  behold  how  slij^ht  an  inci- 
dent was  sufficient  to  poison  his  joy  1  As  he  went  forth,  he 
saw  Mordecai  in  tne  kings's  gate ;  and  observed,  that  he 
«rill  refused  to  »'  .  him  homage  :  **  He  stood  not  up,  nor 
was  moved  for  aim  ;"  although  he  well  knew  the  tormi- 
dable  designs,  which  Haman  was  preparing  to  execute. 

6.  One  private  man,  who  despised  his  greatness,  and 
disdained  submission,'  while  a  whole  kingdom  trembled 
before  him  ;  one  spirit,  which  the  utmost"*  stretch  of  his 
power  could  neither  subdue  nor  humble,  blasted  his  tri- 
umphs.'* His  whole  soul  was  shaken  with  a  storm  of  pas- 
sion.    Wraths  pride,  aud  desire  of  revenge,  rose  into  fury. 

7.  With  dilhculty  he  restrained  himself  in  public ;  but 
as  soon  as  he  came  to  his  own  house,  he  was  forced  to 
disclose  the  a^ony*  of  his  mind.  He  gathe,^d  together 
his  friends  ana  family,  with  Ztreslv^  his  wife.  **  lie  told 
them  of  the  glory  ol  his  riches,  and  the  multitude  of  hia 
children,  and  of  all  the  things  wherein  the  king  had  pro- 
moted him  ;  and  how  he  had  idvanced  him  above  thft 
princes  and  servants  of  the  king. 

8.  He  said,  moreover,  Yea,  Esther  the  quecn  suffered  no 
man  to  come  in  with  the  king,  to  the  hanouet  that  she  had 
prepared,  but  m}^self ;  and  to-morrow  also  am  I  invited 
to  her  -with  the  kmg."  After  all  this  preamble,-?  what  is 
the  conclusion  ?•  **Yet  all  this  availetfi  mc  notMng,  so 
long  a«  I  see  Mordecai  the  Jew  sitting  it  the  king's  gate." 

9.  The  sequjKl'-  of  Haman's  history  I  shall  not  now  pur- 
sue. It  might  afford  matter  for  much  instruction,  by  the 
conspicuous  justice  of  God  in  his  fall  and  punishment. 
But  contemplating  only  the  singular  situation,  in  which 
the  expressions  just  quoted  present  him,  and  tlie  violent 
agitation  of  his  mind  which  they  display,  the  following 
reflections  naturally  arise  : 

10.  How  miserable  is  vice,  when    one  guilty  passioil 
creates  so  much  torment !  how  unavailing  is  prosperrtv 
wt^o  in  the  height  of  it,  a  5ingie  ^diBappomtment  can  da» 


€7ktj».  C 


ItARRATiTis  Pieces. 


49 


utroy  the  relish  of  all  its  pleasures  !  how  weak  ts  human 
■nature,  which  in  the  absence  of  real^  is  thus  prone*  to 
form  to  itself  imaginary  woes !  blaia. 

SECTION  IV. 


a  Afi-plre,  i»-plrc%  to  deeire  wiUi  eager- 
ness 
Modern,  m5d'-dflrn,  late    notancieni 
Il«j^er-A«-cliani,  rij'-jfir-ia'-kini,  tu- 
tor to  Queen  Elizabeth 

i  Re-(iJ«ie,  r^-pl^tc',  quite  full 

s  Lit-ci--a-ture»  flf-lir-jA-t6re,  learning, 
skill 

/  Prer-€r-a-ble,  prAr-fir-l-U,  eligible, 
better 

g'  En-ter-pri«e,  *n'-tir-prlze,  a  hazar- 
douR  utidertakiiig 

h  Re-Jin-quinh,  r^-rtng'-kwlsli,   to  for- 
sake, leave,  release 

t  Ten-der,  tSn'-diV,  to  ofTer,  soft 

j  Zeal,  zile,  ardour  ibr  any  person  or 


cause 
For-ti-tudo,     f5r'-ti-t6dc,    «ouraf«, 

bravery 
Fu-lic-i-iy,     ft-iia'-i-ti,     happincH, 
|>!fa?ure 
m  6caf-fo!d,  6k4r'-ffild,  a  slight  frame 
Con-8tau-cy,    k6o'-st5n-B*,     resolu- 
tion 
0  Oflence,  if-finse',  crime,  injury 
p  In-fringe-ment,  In-rr!nju'-iii£al,brea«b, 

violation 
7  Con-Ptrain,   k6n-6trinc',    to    eotnpel 
r  A-tone,  A-tine',  to  answer  for 
.*  Fil-ial,  tir-y4l,  pertaining  to  a  son 
t  Tend,   tfind,   to  watch,  to  move  te 
wards 


Lady  Jone  Gray. 

1.  This  excellent  personage  was  descended  from  th« 
royal  line  of  FjigljincI  by  bolfi  her  parents. 

»She  was  carefully  educated  in  the  principles  of  the  re- 
formation ;  and  her  wisdom  and  virtue  rendered  her  a 
shining  example  to  her  sex.  I$ut  it  was  her  lot  to  con- 
tinue only  a  short  period  on  this  stage  of  being ;  for,  in 
Ctirly  life,  she  fell  a  sacrifice  to  the  w«ild  ambition  of  the 
duke  of  Northumberland,  who  promoted  a  marriage  bc- 
tiFcen  her  and  his  son,  lord  Guilford  Dudley ;  and  raised 
her  to  the  throne  of  England,  in  opposition  to  the  rights 
of  Mary  and  Elizabeth. 

2.  At  the  time  of  their  marriage  she  was  only  about 
eighteen  years  of  age,  and  her  husband  was  also  very 
young :  a  season  of  life  very  unequal  to  oppose  the  inter- 
ested views  of  artful  and  aspiring-  men  ;  who  instead  of 
exposing  them  to  danger,  should  have  been  the  protec- 
tors of  their  innocence  and  j'outh. 

5.  This  extraordinary  young  person,  besides  the  solid 
endowments  of  piety  and  virtue,  possessed  the  most  en 
gaging  disposition,  the  most  accomplished  parts  ;  and  be- 
in^  of  an  equal  age  with  king  Etiward  VI.  she  had  re- 
ceived all  her  education  with  him,  and  seemed  even  to 
I)ossess  a  greater  facility  in  acquiring  every  part  of  man-' 
y  and  classical  literature. 

4.  She  had  attained  a  knowledge  of  the  Roman  and 
Grtek  laiiguages,  aswt^J  as  of  sereral  modern^  UmQ^nfft 


10  English  Reader.  Part  h^ 

had  passed  most  of  her  time  in  an  application  to  learning ; 
and  expressed  a  great  indifference  lor  other  occupations 
and  amusements  usual  with  her  sex  and  station. 

5.  Roger  Aseham/  tutor  to  the  lady  Elizabeth,  having 
at  onetime  paid  her  a  visit,  found  her  employed  in  read- 
ing Plato,  wliile  the  rest  of  the  family  were  en^a^ed  in  a 
party  of  hunting  in  the  park  ;  and  upon  his  admiring  the 
singularity  of  her  choice,  she  told  htm  that  she  *'  receiv- 
<*d  more  pleasure  from  that  author,  than  others  could  reap 
from  all  their  spurt  and  gaiety." 

fi.  Her  heart,  rqiletc^  Avitii  this  love  of  literature*  and 
serious  studies,  andwith  tenderness  towards  her  husband, 
who  was  deserving  of  her  affection,  had  never  opened  it- 
self to  the  flattering  allurements  of  ambition  ;  and  the  in- 
formation of  her  advancement  to  the  throne  was  by  no 
means  agreeabh^.  to  her.  She  even  refused  to  accept  the 
crown  ;  pleaded  the  preferabla^  right  of  the  two  prin- 
cesses ;  expressed  her  dread  of  the  consequences  attend- 
ing an  enterprize^  so  dangerous,  not  to  say  so  criminal ; 
and  desired  to  remain  in  that  private  station  in  which  she 
was  born. 

7.  Overcome  at  last  with  the  entreaties,  rather  than 
reasons,  of  her  father,  and  father-in-law,  and  above  all, 
of  her  husband,  she  submitted  to  their  will,  and  was  pre- 
vailed on  to  relinquish^  her  own  judgment.  Rut  her 
elevation  was  of  very  short  continuance.  The  nation  de- 
clared for  queen  Mary  ;  and  the  lady  Jane,  after  wearing 
the  vain  pageantry  of  a  crown  during  ten  clays,  returned 
to  a  private  life,  with  much  more  satisfaction  than  she 
fell  when  royalty  was  tendered*  to  her. 

6.  Queen  IVIary,  who  appears  to  have  been  incapable  of 
generosity  or  clemency,  determined  to  remove  every  per- 
f»on,  from  whom  the  least  danger  could  be  apprehenaed. 
Warning  was.,  therefore  given  to  lady  Jane  to  prepare  for 
death ;  a  doom  which  she  had  expected,  and  which  the 
innocence  of  her  life,  as  well  as  the  misfortunes  to  which: 
«he  had  been  exposed,  rendered  no  unwelcome  news  to 
her. 

9,  The  queen's  bigoted  zeal,^  under  colour  of  tender 
mercy  to  the  prisoner's  soul,  induced  her  to  send  priests, 
who  molestea  her  with  perpetual  disputation ;  and  even 
a  reprieve  of  three  days  wa«  granted  her,  in  hopes  that 
she  would  b^  persuaded,  dunng  that  time,  to  pay,  by  a 
timely  conversion  to  poperv^  sojiie  regard  to  her  etcrnaJ 
^rclfftfc. 


Chap.  t.  NARRATxrE  Piicf.8.  si 

10.  Lndy  Jane  had  presence  of  mind,  in  those  Tnc!^n 
cholv  circumstances,  not  only  to  clefi'nd  her  relip;ion  by 
soliu  argument,  but  also  to  "^Tiite  a  letter  to  her  sister,  in 
the  Greek  language  ;  in  'which,  besides  sending  lur  a  co- 
py of  the  Scriptures  in  that  tongue,  she  exhorted  her  tv 
maintain,  in  every  fortune,  a  like  steady  perseverance. 

11.  On  the  day  of  her  execution,  htr  husband,  lord 
Guilford,  desired  permission  to  see  hvv  ;  but  she  refused 
her  consent,  and  sent  him  "vvord,  that  the  tenderness  of 
their  parting  would  overcome  the  fortitude*  of  both  ;  and 
would  toomucli  unbend  their  minds  from  that  constancy, 
which  their  approaching  end  required  of  them.  Their 
separation,  she  said,  would  be  only  for  a  moment ;  and 
they  would  soon  rejoin  each  other  m  a  scene,  where  their 
affections  would  be' forever  united  ;  and  where  death,  dr«w 
appointment,  and  misfortune,  cou'd  no  longer  have  access 
to  them,  or  disturb  their  eternal  feFhcity.^ 

1^.  It  had  been  intended  to  execute  the  lady  Jane  and 
lord  Guilford  together  on  the  same  scaffold,"*  at  Tower 
hill  ;  but  their  council,  dreadmg  th(;  compassion  of  the 
people  for  their  youth,  beauty,  innocence,  and  noble 
nirtn,  changed  their  orders,  an^  gave  directions  that  she 
should  be  beheaded  within  the  verge  of  the  'Jower. 

13.  She  saw  her  husband  led  to  execution  ;  and  hav- 
ing given  him  from  tlie  window  some  token  of  her  remem- 
brance, she  waited  with  tranf^uillity  till  her  own  appointed 
hour  should  brinj^:  her  to  a  like  fiite.  She  even  saw  his 
headhjss  body  carried  back  in  a  cart ;  and  found  herself 
more  conlhmed  by  the  reports  which  she  heard  of  the 
constancy"  of  his  end,  than  shaken  by  so  tender  and  me- 
lancholy a  spectacle. 

14.  Sir  John  Gage,  constable  of  the  tower,  whtn  he 
led  her  to  execution,  desired  her  to  bestoW'  on  him  some 
small  present,  which  he  might  keep  as  a  memorial  of  her. 
She  i^avehim  her  table  book,  in  which  she  had  just  writ- 
ten tnree  sentences  on  seeing  her  husband's  dead  body; 
one  in  Greek,  another  in  Latin,  and  a  third  in  English. 

15.  The  purport  of  them  was,  "that  human  justice 
was  ajrainst  his'body,  but  the  Divine  IMercy  would' be  fa- 
vourable to  his  soul ;  and  that  if  her  fault 'deserved  pun- 
ishment, her  youth,  atleast,  and  her  imprudence,  were  wor- 
thy of  excuse;  and  that  God  and  posterity-,  she  trusted, 
would  show  her  favour."  On  the  *.caflbid,  iilie  made  a 
Mieech  to  the  bystanders,  in  wiiich  the  mildness  of  her 
disposition  led  her  to  take  the  blame  trttirely  on  herself. 


5t  English  Keader.  Fart  t 

without  uttering  one  complaint  against  the  severity  with 
which  she  liad  neen  treated.  . 

16.  She  said,  that  her  offence"  was,  not  that  she  had 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  crown,  hut  that  she  had  not  re- 
jected it  with  suiRcient  constancy  ;  that  she  had  less  er- 
red through  ambition  than  through  reverence  to  her  pa- 
rents, whom  she  had  lit^en  taught  to  respect  and  obey  : 
that  she  willingly  received  death,  as  the  only  satisfaction 
which  she  could  now  make  to  the  injured  state  ;  and 
tliough  her  infringement^  of  the  lawsiiad  been  constrain- 
ed,? she  would  show,  by  her  voluntary  submission  to  their 
sentence,  that  she  was  desirous  to  atone-  for  that  disobe- 
dience, into  which  too  much  filial*  piety  had  betrayed 
her  :  that  she  had  justly  deserved  this  punishment  for'be- 
ing  made  the  instrument,  though  the  unwilling  instru- 
ment, of  the  ambition  of  others  :  and  that  the  story  of 
her  life,  she  hoped,  might  at  least  be  useful,  by  proving 
tliat  innocence  excuses  not  great  misdeeds,  if  they  ten(P 
any  way  to  the  destruction  of  the  commonwealth. 

17.  After  uttering  these  words,  she  caused  herself  to 
be  disrobed  by  her  women,  and  with  a  steady  serene 
countenance,  submitted  herself  to  the  executioner. 

HUME. 

SECTION  V. 

«  Or-to  grul,  6r'-  tA-grfil, 

h  Viz-ier,  viz'-yire,  prime  minister  of 
the  Turkish  empire 

e  Di-van,  di-vin',  council  of  the  ori- 
ental princes,  a  hall 

d  Cyg-net,  slg'-n^t,  a  young  swan 

e  Man-date,  ni4n'-d4te,  a  command,  o 
precept  , 

/  Veo-er-a-tion,  v^n-ir-i'-shSn,  awful 

Ortogrul ;  or^  the  vanity  of  riches. 
1.  As  Ortogrul*  of  Basra  was  one  day  wandering 
along  the  streets  of  Bagdat,  musing  on  the  varieties  of 
merchandise  which  the  shops  opened  to  his  view ;  and 
observing  the  different  occupations  which  busied  the  mul- 
titude on  e\yvy  side,  he  was  awakened  from  the  tranquil- 
lity of  meditation,  by  a  crowd  that  obstructed  his  pan 
sage.  He  raised  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  chief  vizier*  whet 
having  returned  from  the  divan,*-  was  entering  his  palace. 
;  a.  Ortogrul  mingled  with  the  attendants;  and  heiojf 
mpp09ed  to  have  aome  petition  for  the  ^zier,  wz»  joer 


respect 

cr  De-iiii-er-ate,  d^-flb'-Si  iite,  to  think 
in  order  to  chose 

k    Riv-u-let,     r!v'-6-lgt,    a«   brook,    a 
streamlet 

i  Fiction,  t!k'-Khfm,  tlic  act  of  feign- 
ing, a  falsehood 
A-niass,  4 -mAs',  to  heap  up 


Qhap.  t.  Na&rativ£  Piecxs.  99 

mitted  to  enter.  He  surveyed  the  gpaciousneo*  uf  tht; 
apartments^  admired  the  walls  hung  witii  gulden  tapestry, 
and  the  floors  covered  with  silken  carpets  ;  and  despised 
tlie  simple  neatness  of  his  own  little  habitation. 

3.  *' Surely,"  said  he  to  himself,  '*  this  palace  is  the 
seat  of  happmess  :  where  pleasure,  succeeds  to  pleasure, 
and  discontent  and  sorrow  can  have  no  admission. — 
Whatever  nature  has  provided  for  the  delight  of  sense,  is 
here  spread  forth  to  be  enjoyed.  What  can  mortals  hope 
or  imagine,  which  the  master  of  this  palace  has  not  ob- 
taitievl  i  The  aishes  of  luxury  cover  liis  table  !  the  voice 
of  harmony  lulls  him  in  his  bowers  ;  he  breathes  the  fra- 
grance of  tiie  grovcr  of  J;;Ya,  and  sleeps  upon  the  down 
of  the  cygnets'^  of  Ganges. 

4.  "  lie  s|)eakH,  and  his  mandate*  is  obeyed  ;  he  wish- 
es, and  his  v  isii  is  gratified ;  all,  whom  he  Sf.es,  obey 
him,  and  all,  wliom  he  ht-nri',  ilattcr  him.  How  diilerent. 
Oh  OrlogruJ,  is  thy  condition,  who  art  doomed  to  the 
perpetual  torments  of  unsatisfied  desire  :  an<i  who  hast 
no  amusement  in  thv  pov/er,  that  can  withhold  thee  from 
thy  own  reilecticnis  ! 

5.  "  They  tell  thee  that  thou  art  wise  ;  but  what  does 
wisdom  avail  v\ith  poverty  :  None  will  flatter  the  poor ; 
and  the  wise  have  very  little  power  of  flattering  tjiem- 
selves.  That  man  is  surelv  the  most  wretched  of  th 
sons  of  wretchedness,  who  Fives  with  his  own  faults  and 
follies  always  Iw^fore  him  ;  and  who  has  none  to  recon- 
cile him  to  himself  by  nrnise  and  veneration^/"  1  have 
long  sought  content,  and  have  not  tbund  it;  I  will  from 
this  moment  endeavour  to  be  rich." 

6.  Full  of  his  new  resolution,  he  shut  himself  in  his 
chamber  for  six  month  to  deliberate*:  how  he  should  grow 
rich.  He  sometimes  purposed  to  oiler  himself  as  a  coun- 
sellor to  one  of  the  kings  of  lii^'.ia  ;  and  sometimes  re- 
solved to  dig  for  diamonds  in  the  mines  of  Golconda. 

7.  One  day,  after  some  hours  passed  In  violent  fluctua- 
tions of  oj>inion,  sleep  insensibly  seized  him  in  his  chair. 
He  dreamed,  that  he  was  rangmg  a  desert  country,  in 
search  of  some  ore  that  mi^d^t  tench  him  to  grow  rich  ; 
aj*d  .tshe  .stood  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  shaded  with  cy})ress, 
in  do«il»t  whither  to  direct  iiis  steps,  his  father  appeared 
on  a  sudden  slanding  before  him.  '*  Ortogrul,*'  said  the 
old  man,  "  I  know  thy  perplexity;  listen  to  thy  father; 
turn  thine  eye  on  the  opposite  mountain." 

ft.  Ortogrul  looked,  and  s^iw  a  torrent  tumbling  dcwa 
If  9. 


M  EyohiEH  XtKADER.  Part  1. 

the  rocks,  roaHng  with  the  noise  of  tliunder,  and  scat- 
tering its  foam  on  thfi  inipendinj^  woods.  *'  Now,'*  said 
his  father,  "'■  behold  the  valley  tli^it  lies  between  the  hills." 
Ortojcrul  looked,  and  espied  a  little  well,  out  of  whii-ii 
issiied  a  small  rivulet.  "  Tell  me  now,"  said  his  father*. 
*•"  df»st  thou  Avish  for  sudden  afiluence,  that  may  pour  up- 
on thee  like  the  mountain  torrent ;  or  for  a  slow  and  j^rad- 
ual  increase,  reseirsbiiuj;  the  rill  glidinj^  from  the  well  ?" 

9.  "  Let  me  be  ({uickly  rich,"  said  Orto^rul  ;  ''  let  the 
golden  stream  be  quick  and  violent."  *"  Look  round 
thee,"  said  his  father,  *'  once  again."  Ortogrul  looked 
aiid  perceived  the  channel  of  the  torrent  dry  and  dusty; 
but  following  tlie  rivulet/'  from  the  v/ell,  he  traced  it  to  a 
wide  lake, *which  the  supply,  sIoav  and  constant,  kept  al- 
ways full.  He  awoke,  and  determined  to  grow  rich  oy  si- 
lent profit,  and  persevering  industry. 

10.  Having  soki  his  patrimony,  he  engaged  in  mer- 
chandize ;  and  in  twenty  years  purchased  lands,  on  which 
he  raised  a  house,  equal,  in  sumptuousness  to  that  of  the 
vizier,  to  which  he  invited  all  the  ministers  of  pleasure, 
t^xnecting  to  enjoy  all  the  filicity  which  he  had  imagined 
ritMies  abie  to  af!ord.  Leisure  soon  made  him  weary  of 
himself,  and  he  longed  to  be  persuaded  that  he  was  great 
and  happy.  Me  was  courteous  and  liberal  :  he  gave  all 
that  approached  him  hopes  of  pleasing  him,  and  all  who- 
should  please  hhn,  hopes  of  bein«;  rewarded.     Ever}-  art 

•  of  praise  was  tried,  and  ever^^source  of  adulatory  fiction* 
was  exhausted. 

n.  Ortognd  heard  his  flatterers  without  delight,  be- 
cause he  found  liimself  unable  to  believe  them.  Mis  own 
heart  told  him  its  frailties;  his  own  understanding^  re- 
proached hijn  with  faults.  "  How  long,"  said  he,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  "  have  1  been  labouring  in  vain  to  amass 
wealth,  which  at  last  is  useless  !  Let  no  man  hereafteit' 
wish  to  b^  -ich,  who  is  already  too  wise  to  be  flattered." 

Dli.    JOHxNSOPf. 

SECTION  VL 


a  Fo-li-JUje,  f^'-li-ndje,  leaves,  tufu  of 
leaves 

b  Ro-u>iin-t.ick,  rA-iriir/-l!k,  wild,  im- 
probable 

e  Frag-met>t,  frig'-mSnt,  a  broken 
piece 

d  Sooth,  nftith,  to  flatter,  ploaso 


irrej,'ul!ir  thought 
/  In  snire.  Id  ^plie",    fo  brcalh  into,  to 

infiisH  into  the  mind,  to  impress  oa 

the  fancy 
g'  As  ton-ish-mcnt,  6B-t6n'-!Bh-raSnt,  ox, 

trome  surprise 
A  Ad-rai-ra-tion,  4d-mi-ri'-«hfiQ|  Vfittr 


€haj%.  t. 


l^AflllATITK    riECES 


i  War-ble,  wi/-bl,  to  quaver,  r  80und(c  Rfvtard,  ri-iftjif ,  to  bkxiw 

j  Preo-i-pice,  prfes'-si-pw,  a  headlongu/   Tor-pe-do,  t(Sr-p6'-dA,  a  fish  whaaf  ^ 

,tcpp  touch  benumbs 

k  De-vi-ous,  d4'-vi-iis,  erring,  going  a-  «  Lan-gnor,  ling-gw&r,  a  faiiUD^w,  la*- 

stray  siturio 

I  Ex-cur-sion,  eks-kBr'-slifln,  an  expc-  /  Tinge,  tluje,  to  impregnate,  lo  t*^ 


bue 
0-bliv-i-on,    A-bl!v'-4-fin,    forgetful 

ness,  amnesty 
h   Sei-ence,  sl'-enee,    knowledge,   eK 

nitaincd  by  precepts,  or  bailt  oa 

principles 
En  clmnt-mcnt,  2n-tghAnt'-m8nt,  mag 

ical  charms 
J    Un-re-mit-ted,     fin-ri-Tn!t'-lW,    imt 

wearied 
Ex-hil-a-ra-ting,     £gz-hU'-&-rti-l1n|s 

making  cheerful 
I  Ever-green,  Av'-fir-gr^^n,  a  plant  t«*- 

dunt  through  tl>e  year 
m    Kf  ful-gence,    fef-ffil'-j^n**,    KmUo^ 

»!plendonr 
n  Ar-dour,  ir'-dJir,  heat  of  afieclioa,  m 

love,  desire,  courage 
0  I)i-vino,   d<^-vlno',   partaking  of  tbm 

nature  oi'  Cod 
p  Te-nign,  bi-nlne',  kind,  liberal 
y    Ra  dj-ance,    r4'-jc:-4nKO,    cporkUnf 

lustre 
r  Sage,  skJQ,  %  philosopher,  leArncd  is 

philosophy 
s  Ilcr-mit,  h£r'-in!t,  a  r«clufO,  a  tohtMif 

monk 
(  Em-i-nence,  im'-i-n^nM,   height,  eft> 

lebrity 


diiion 
ia  Pur-ti-al-i-ty,  pir-shi-il'-i-ti,    une 

qua!  judgmci't 
n  Ec  con-irick,  ek-s?n'-tr?k,   deviating 

fiom  th(!  centre 

0  l>e-nde,  dA-rlde',  to  meek,  ridicule 
l>  Toii-somc,  ifill'-sflm,    laborious,    fa- 
tiguing 

q  Im-por-tu-ni-ty,  !m-pdr-t6'-ni-ti,  in- 
cessant solicitation 

r  Coni-ply,  k6m-pll',  to  yield  to,  agree 

t  A»-por-i-ty,  4s-per'-6-t^,  uncveuiiess, 
roughness 

1  Hugged,    rug'-gid,    rough,    stormy, 

ru<lc 
u  Whole-some,  h4Ie'-s5ra,   sound,  sal 

ntary 
V   Rc-lrish,  r6-fr?ah',  to   relieve  after 

pain 
w    Ob-siruc-tion,    6b-struk'-shBn,    Jiin 

drunce,  obstacle 
»  En-tice,  ^ji-ilse',  to  allure,  attract 
y  lu-nu-uier-a-blo,  Innii'-mZir-A-bl,  noi 

•o  be  counted 
z  For-ni'-dii-bio,  fdr'-mi-di-bl,  terrible 

ilreadful 
a  Im-per-ccp-ti  b!y,  !m-p?r-p?p'-t^-bli 

in  a  manner  not  to  bo  perceived 
h  llos-tii-i-ty,   h6s-ili'-i-ti^  open   war 

enmity  1 

Jilt  hill  of  science. 

In  that  season  of  the  year,  Avhen  the  serenity  of  th« 
sky,  the  various  fruits  Avhich  cover  the  ground,  the  di%r 
colourpd  foliaj^e"  of  the  trees,  and  all  the  sweet,  but  fa- 
dhii:  }i;races  of  inspiring}:  autumn,  open  the  mind  to  benev- 
olence, and  dispose  it  for  contemplation,  I  was  wandering 
in  a  beautiful  and  romantic^  country,  till  curiosity  began 
to  give  way  to  weariness  ;  and  1  sat  down  on  tlie  frag- 
ment'' of  a  rock  overj^rpwn  with  moss ;  where  the  rust- 
hng  of  the  tiiilin}.^  leaves,  the  dashing  of  w^aters,  and  th« 
hu.ii  of  tne  distant  city,  soothed*^  m}/-  mind  into  a  most 
perfect  tranquillity  ;  and  sleep  insensibly  stole  upon  me, 
as  I  was  indulj:injg  the  aji^reeaole  reveries,/  which  the  ob- 
jects around  me  naturally  inspired/. 

2.  1  immediately  found  myself  m  a  vast  extended  plaiiw 
tn  the  middle  of  which  arose  a  laountaio  higher  tnAO  I 


ExfOLiSH  Kbadca.  Iktri  JU  - 

kad  befbre  any  conception  of.  It  was  covered  with  a  xnul** 
titude  of  people,  chiefly  youth  ;  many  ol  whom  pressed 
lorward  with  the  liveliest  expression  of  ardour  m  their 
countenance,  though  the  way  was  in  many  places  steep 
and  difficult. 

S.  i  observed,  that  those,  who  had  but  |ust  began  to 
climb  the  hill,  thought  themselves  not  far  from  the  top  ; 
but  as  they  proceeded,  new  hills  were  continually  risine 
to  their  view ;  and  the  summit  of  the  highest  they  coula 
before  discern  seemed  but  the  foot  of  another,  till  the 
mountain  at  length  appeared  to  lose  itself  in  the  clouds. 
As  1  was  gazing  on  these  things  with  astonishmenUr,  a 
friendly  instructer  suddenly  appeared ;  '*  the  mountain 
before  thee,"  said  he,  **  is  the  iiill  of  Science.  On  the 
top  is  the  Temple  of  Truth,  whose  head  is  above  the 
clouds,  and  a  vale  of  pure  light  covers  her  face.  Observe 
the  progress  of  her  votaries  ;  be  silent  and  attentive." 

4.  After  1  had  noticed  a  variety  of  objects,  I  turned 
my  eye  towards  the  multitudes  who  were  climbing  the 
steep  ascent ;  and  observed  among  them  a  youth  of  a  live 
ly  look,  a  piercing  eye,  and  something  fiery  and  irregular 
in  all  his  motion.  Ills  name  was  Genius.  He  darted  like 
an  eagle  up  the  mountain ;  and  left  his  companions  ga* 
zing  after  him  with  envy  and  admiration  :a  but  his  pro- 
gress was  unequal,  and  mterrupted  by  a  thousand  capri- 
ces. When  pleasure  warbled^  in  the  valley,  he  mingled 
in  her  train. 

5.  When  Pride  beckoned  towards  the  precipice,^  he 
ventured  to  the  tottering  edge.  He  delighted,  in  devious* 
and  untried  paths  ;  and  made  so  many  excursions'  from 
the  road  that  his  feebler  companions  often  outstripped 
him.  I  observed  that  the  muses  beheld  him  with  par- 
tiality :*  but  Truth  often  frowned  and  turned  aside  her 
face. 

C.  While  Genius  was  thus  wasting  his  strength  in  ec- 
eentric  flights,  I  saw  a  person  of  very  different  appear* 
ance,  named  Application,  He  crept  along  with  a  slow 
and  unremitting  pace,  his  eyes  fixed  on  ttie  top  of  the 
mountain,  patiently  removingevery  stone  that  obstructed 
his  way,  till  he  saw  most  of  those  below  him,  who  had 
lit  first  derided"  his  slow  and  toilsome?  progress. 

7.  Indeed,  there  were  few  who  ascended  the  hill  with 
equal,  and  uninterrupted  steadiness ;  for  besides  the  dif«- 
.iiculties  of  the  way,  they  were  continually  solicited  to 
'tMra  a«idft  by  a  numerous  crowd  of  appetitea,  paiaii>n% 


CkcBp.  «.  Narrative  Pif.cks.  ^7 

and  pleasures,  whose  importunity,*  when  once  conipliedr 
with,  they  hecame  less  and  less  able  to  resist:  and  though 
they  often  returned  to  the  path,  the  asperities'  of  the  road 
were  more  severely  felt;  the  hill  appeared  more  «teep 
and  rugged;'  the  fruits,  -which  ^vere  wholesome"  and  re- 
freshing," seemed  harbh  and  ill  tasted  ;  their  sight  grew 
dim  ;  and  their  feet  trii:»t  at  every  httle  obstruction."' 

8.  1  saw,  wjlii  ion.e  surprise,  tJiat  themuses,  whose  bu- 
siness was  to  cheer  and  .  hcourage  those  who  weretoilinj; 
up  the  ascent,  woiua  often  sing  in  the  bowers  of  pleasure, 
and  accompany  tlia^e  wIjo  were  enticed-*-' away  at  the  call 
of  the  passions.  T'sey  accompanied  them,  however,  but 
a  little  wa}^ ;  and  always  fursook  them  when  they  lost 
sight  of  the  hill  1  he  tyrants  then  doubled  their  chains 
upon  the  unhappy  r  ptives  ;  and  led  them  away,  without 
resistance,  to  the  cells  of  Ignorance,  or  the  mansions  of 
misery.     ^ 

9.  Amongst  the  innumerable'/  seducers,  who  were  en- 
deavourinjj  to  draw  away  the  votaries  of  Truth  from  the 
path  of  science,  there  was  one,  so  little  formidable^  in  her 
appearance,  and  so  gentle  and  languid  in  her  attempts, 
tnat  I  should  scarcely  have  taken  notice  of  her,  but  for 
the  numbers  she  had  imperceptibly  loaded  with  her 
chains. 

10.  Indolence,  (for  so  she  was  called,)  far  from  pro- 
reeding  to  open  hostilities,''  did  not  attempt  to  turn  their 
feet  out  of  the  path,  but  contented  herself  with  retard- 
ing* their  progress  ;  and  the  purpose  she  could  not  force 
them  to  abandon,  she  persuaded  them  to  delay.  Her 
touch  had  a  power  like  that  of  the  torpedo,**  which  with- 
-ered  tlie  strength  of  those  who  came  within  its  influence. 
Her  unhappy  captives  still  turned  their  faces  towards  the 
temple,  and  always  hoped  to  arrive  there  ;  but  the  grour  d 
seemed  to  slide  (lom  beneath  their  feet,  and  they  fountl 
themselves  at  the  bottom,  before  they  suspected  they  had 
changed  their  place. 

11.  The  placid  serenity,  which  at  first  appeared  to 
their  countenance,  changed  by  degrees  into  a  melanchol 
}y  langour,'  which  was  tinged/ with  deeper  and  deeper 
gloom,  as  they  glided  down  the  stream  of  Insignificance; 
a  dark  and  sluggish  water,  which  is  curled  by  no  breeze, 
and  enlivened  by  no  murmur,  till  it  falls  into  a  dead  sea, 
where  startled  passengers  are  awake/ied  by  the  shock» 
and  tlie  next  moment  buried  in  the  gulf  of  obhvion.^ 

1£.  Of  all  tiie  unhappy   deserters  from  the  paths  of 


<3tg  K.VOl^SU    tlKiOKR.  /%»-/    1.^ 

Science/  «0!>e  seemed  U*s«  r.hlc  to  return  th?vn  the  follow- 
ers oi*  indolence.  The  captives  of  ajipetite  and  pasnion. 
would  often  seize  the.  moment  >vhen  thenr  tyrants  -were' 
languid  or  asleep,  to  escape  from  their  enchantment;'  but 
the  dominion  of  Indolence  was  constant  and  unremit- 
ted ;>  and  seldom  resisted^  till  resistance  was  in  vain. 

13.  After  contemphitij;  these  thinjj^s,  I  turned  my  eyea 
towards  the  top  of  the  ni<)untain,  where  the  air  Avas  al- 
ways pure  and  exhiKiratin^;:/- the  piitli  shaded  with  laurel* 
and  ever^^reens,'  and  the  effulgence**  which  beamed  from-, 
the  face  of  Science  seeme<4  to  shed  a  j^lory  round  her  vo-. 
taries.  Happy,  said  i,  are  they  who  are  permitted  to  as- 
cend the  nn)untaJn  !  Kut  while  1  was  pronouncing  thiif 
exclamation,  with  uncommon  ardour,"  I  saw,  standing 
beside  me  a  forin  of  diviner"-  features^  and  a  more  be- 
n'l^ny  radiance.-/ 

14.  "  Happier,"  said  she,  **  are  they  whom  Virtue 
conducts  to  the  Mansions  of  Content!"  *-*  Wrtat,"  saidl^ 
•*  does  Virtue  then  reside  in  tiie  vale  ?"  "  I  am  foimd,*'' 
said  she,  "  in  the  vale,  audi  illuminate  the  mountain^ 
I  cheer  the  cottaji;er  at  his  toil,  and  itippire  the  sa<2;e'-  at 
his  meditation.  1  mingle  in  the  crowd  of  cities,  and 
bless  the  hermit'  in  his  cell.  1  have  a  temple  in  every 
heart  that  owns  my  iniluence  ;  and  to  him  that  wishe* 
fo^*  me,l  am  already  present.  Science  may  raise  thee 
to  eminence  :'  but  I  alone  can  guide  thee  to  felicity  !" 

15.  While  Virtue  was  thus  sneaking,  1  stretched  out 
my  arms  towards  her,  Avith  a  veiiemence  which  broke  my 
slumber.  The  chill  dews  were  falling  around  me,  and 
the  siiades  of  evening  stretched  over  the  landscape.  1 
hastened  homeward ;  and  resigned  the  night  to  silence 
and  meditation.  -  aiken. 

SECTION  VII. 


a  O-bi-dah,  i-bl'-«1ft, 

b  Ah-en-si-na,  ab-b^n-si'-nA, 

c  Cnr-a-van-se-ru,   kAr-i-vAn'-K^-rii,  a 

house  built  for  tlie  reception  of  trn- 

vellcrs 
d    Vig-or-oui,      vl^'-fir-fijj      forcible, 

stroiifr 
t  Tn-cile,  !n-sltft',  fo  stir  up,  animate 
/  Par-a-dise,   p4r'-ri-(Jis«,  a  place  of 

folicity 
g    Merid-inn,  m^-r!d'-i-AT,    tlie   line 

vhich  tht  ifuii  crutises  a;  nuon>  thu 


bighest  point  of  power  or  glory 

h  Coni-mo-rii-uus,  kcSni-nii'-j^  as,  or 
k6m-nit>'-(li^s,  convenictit,  useful 
VtT-durc,  vfr'-j6re,  grp*;n  colour 

j  Ir-re-sia-ti-bly,  ir-ri'/.!s^-t*-ble,  in  ft 
drjTree  superiourto  opposition 

k  Rc-inis  sion,  re-inlsh'-fin,  abatement, 
pardon 

I  Wc-itt)  (ier,  m6-St)'-d?ir,  jnazc,  laby- 
rinth, to  run  winding 

in  SuB-pRct,  sas-pckt',  to  imagine  Mhtd 
hi  iM>t  kuown 


Vkap,  %. 


Narrative  I'iecics. 


K  Di*vert,  di-T&rt',  to    turn   asid«,  to 

plea»e 
•  Ech-o,  Sk'-k4,  repcrcuBsion  of   any 

Kound,  to  pound  back 
p  Cas-cade,  kis-kide',  a  cataract,  wa- 

ter-faJI 
q    Cir-cum-vo-iu-tion,    s?r-k6m-vA-16'- 

sli'iH,  ihe  act  of  rolling 
r  lioi-ter,  16t^'-tftr,  to  linger 
s  To'-ffciit,  idr'-r^nt,  violent  and  rapid 

stream 
t  Ta-per,  ti'-pflr,  a  wax  candle,  conical, 

to  lessen 
«  Wil-dcr-ness,  wll'-dfir-nSs,  adesort 
V  Oc-cur-r«nce,  6k-kBr'-r^nse,  incident, 

atcidental  event 
10  Fer-vour,  f^r'-vfn-,  warmth,  zeal 
%  Vig-il-ance,   v1d'-jll-4nse,   waichful- 


ij  Purpose,  p&r'-p{t»,  iot«otioB,   to  i»- 

lolve 

I  Sol-ace,  s6r-lfts,  comfort,  to  cheer 
a  Ad-e-quuie,  id'-i-kwiu*,  priipoftio*- 

ate 
b  Iin  mcrjje,    !m-niSrjo',    to  put   mulM 

waijjr 
Luxury.  I'k'-ehA-r*,  volnptnoo#«««i 
d  Lab-yr-iiitij,    l&b'-bgr-1ntl>,   u   uttM^ 

intricacy 
c  In-vude,  !ii-vAde,  to  attack  a  rotin- 

try,  to  a8*;jiil,  to  assault 
/  Ob  struct,    ub-6tr5kt',    to   hinder,   \» 

oppose 

fr  Effort,  fif'-Hbrt,  Btrii^^gle,  ondeavour 
h  Oni-iiip-o-lcnco.       6m-ulp'-p^l4a**, 

olmigijty  power 


The  journey  of  a  day  ;  a  picture  of  human  Ufi. 

1.  Obidah,^  the  son  of  Abcnsina,*  left  the  canivanscra* 
early  in  the  morning,  and  pursued  his  joiHne>i  through  the 
plains  of  Indostan.  He  was  fresh  and  vTgorous*'  with 
rest ;  he  was  animated  with  hope  ;  he  was  incited'  by  tie^ 
sire;  he  walked  swiftly  forward  over  the  vallics,  and  saw 
the  hills  gradually  rising  before  him. 

2.  As  he  passe'd  alonj^,  his  ears  were  delighted  with  the 
morning  song  of  tlie  bn-d  of  paradise  ;/  he  was  fanned 
by  the  last  flutters  of  the  sinking  breeze,  and  sprinkled 
with  dew  by  groves  of  spices.  He  sometimes  contem- 
plated the  towering  height  of  the  oak,  monarch  of  th« 
nill ;  and  sometimes  caught  the  gentle  fragrance  of  th« 
primrose,'  eldest  daughter  of  the  spring  :  all  his  senses 
were  gratified,  and  all  care  was  banished  from  his  heart. 

3.  Thus  he  went  on,  till  the  sun  approached  his  men- 
dian,f  and  the  increased  heat  preyed  upon  his  strength  ; 
he  then  looked  round  about  him  for  some  more  commo- 
dious^'  path.  He  saw,  on  his  right  hand,  a  grove  that  seem- 
ed to  wave  its  shades  as  a  sign  of  invitation  ;  he  enterett 
it,  and  found  the  coolness  ana  verdure'  irresistibly^  pleas- 
ant. 

4.  He  did  not,  however,  forget  whither  he  was  travel- 
ling :  but  found  a  narrow  way  bordered  with  flower»^ 
which  appeared  to  have  the  same  direction  with  the  main 
Toad;  and  was  pleased,  that,  by  this  happy  experiment, 
he  had  found  means  to  unite  pleasure  with  'business,  anil 
to  gain  tlie  rewards  of  diligence  without  stiflering  its  fa- 
tigues. 

9.  lie,  therefore,  still  contini^d  to  walk  lor  ft  thn^ 


.60  ExGLraH  HEADE&.  i*art  1. 

without  the  least  remission*  of  his  ardour,  except  that ' 
was  eometimes  tempted  to  stop  by  the  music  of  th« 
birds,  ■which  the  heat  iiad  assembled  in  the  shade;  and 
sometimes  amused  himself  with  plucking  the  flowers 
that  covered  the  banks  on  either  side,  or  the  fruits  that 
hung  upon  the  branches.  At  last,  the  green  path  began 
to  decline  from  its  first  tendency,  and  to  wind  among  the 
hills  and  thickets,  cooled  with  fountains,  and  murmunnj; 
with  waterfalls. 

6.  Here  Obidah  paused  for  a  tjime,  and  began  to  con- 
sider whether  re  we're  longer- safe  to  forsake  the  known 
and  common  track  ;  but  remembering  that  the  heat  was 
now  in  its  greatest  violence,  and  that  the  plain  was  dusty 
and  uneaven,  he  resolved  to  pursue  the  new  path,  whicn 
he  supposed  only  to  make  a  few  meanders.,^  in  co.npli- 
ance  with  t-he  varieties  of  the  grouiiu,  and  to  end  av  Usi 
in  the  common  road. 

7.  Having  thus  calmed  his  solicitude,  he  renewed  his 
pace,  thoujgh  he  suspected'"  that  he  was  not  eaining 
cround.  This  uneasiness  of  his  mind  inclined  nim  to 
Liy  hold  on  every  new  object,  and  give  way  to  every  sen- 
sation that  might  sooth  or  divert"  Kim.  He  listened  to 
tsvery  echo  ;"  he  mounted  every  hill  for  a  fresh  pros}  ect ; 
he  turned  aside  to  every  cascade  •/  and  pleased  himself 
with  tracing  the  course  of  a  gentle  river  that  rolled  among 
Ihe  trees,  and  watered  a  large  region  with  innumerabU 
circumvolutions.? 

8.  In  these  amusements,  the  hours  passed  away  unac- 
counted ;  his  deviations  had  perplexed  his  memory,  anc 
he  knew  not  towards  what  pomt  to  travel,  ^  He  stood 
pensive  and  confused,  afraid  to  go  forward,  lest  he  should 
go  wrong,  yet  conscious  that  the  time  of  loitering'*  was 
now  past.  While  he  w^as  thus  tortured  with  uncertamty, 
tlie  sKy  was  overspread  with  clouds  ;  the  day  vanished 
from  before  him ;  and  a  sudden  tempest  gathered  rount 
his  head. 

9.  He  was  now  roused  by  his  danger  to  a  quick  and 
painful  remembrance  of  his  folly  ;  he  now  saw  how  happi- 
ness is  lost  wiien  ease  is  consulted  :  he  lamented  the  un 
manly  impatience  that  prompted  him  to  seek  shelter  in 
the  grove ;  and  desnised  tiie  petty  curiesity  that  led  him 
on  from  trifle  to  trifle.  While  he  was  thus' reflecting,  the 
air  grew  blacker,  and  a  clap  of  thunder  broke  his  medi- 
ation. 

10.  He  now  resolved  to  do  what  ret  remaihed  in  hi§ 


C^OP^  S'  KABaATIVK    PlECKt.  0| 

power,  to  tread  bnck  the  ground  which  he  h.ftd  passed,  and 
try  to  find  some  issue  where  the  wood  niiglit  open  into 
the  phiin.  lie  prostrated  hhnself  on  the  ground,  and  re- 
commended liis  hfe  to  the  Lord  of  naiure.  He  rose  with 
contidence  and  tranquilhty,  and  pressed  on  with  resolution^ 
The  beasts  of  the  desert  W(;re  in  motion,  and  on  every 
hand  were  heard  the  mingled  howJs  of  raji;e  and  fear,  and 
ravage  and  expiration.  All  the  horrors  of  darkness  and 
solitude  surrounded  him  :  the  winds  roared  in  the  woods  ; 
and  the  torrents*  tumbled  from  the  liills. 

11.  Thus  forlorn  and  distressed,  he  wandered  through 
the  wild,  without  knowing  whither  he  was  going,  or 
"whether  he  was  every  jTioment  drawmg  nearer  to  safety, 
or  to  destruction.  At  lengtii,  not  fear,  but  lahowr,  began 
to  overcome  him  ;  his  breath  grew  short,  and  his  kneea 
trembled  ;  and  he  was  on  the  point  of  lying  down  in  re- 
signation to  liis  fate,  when  he  beheld,  through  the  bram- 
bles, the  glimmer  of  a  taper.* 

12.  He  advanced  towards  the  light ;  and  finding  that 
it  proceeded  from  the  cottage  of  a  hermit,  he, cilled  num- 
bly at  the  door  and  obtained  admission.  The  old  man 
set  before  him  such  provisions  as  he  had  collected  for 
himself,  on  which  Obidali  fed  with  eagerness  and  grati- 
tude. 

13.  When  the  repast  was  .over,  **  tell  me,"  said  the 
hermit,  **  by  what  chance  thou  hast  been  brought  hither  ? 
1  have  been  now  twenty  years  an  inhabitant  oi  the  wil- 
derness," in  which  I  never  saw  a  man  before."  Obidah 
then  related  the'  occurrences"  of  his  Journey,  wjtli(»ut  any 
concealment  or  palliation. 

;  14.  **  Son,"  said  the  .hermit,  **  let  the  errors  and  fol- 
lies, the  dangers  and  escape  oif  this  day,  sink  deep  into 
thy  heart.  Remember  my  son,  tiiat  human  life  is  the 
journey  of  a  day.  We  rise  \n  the  morning  of  3'outh,  full 
of  vigour,  and  full  of  expectation  ;  we  set  forward  with 
spirit  and  hop>\  with  gaiety  and  with  diligence,  and  trav- 
el on  a  while  in  the  direct  road  of  piety  towards  the  man- 
sion of  rest. 

15.  **  In  a  short  time,  we  remit  our  fervour"  and  en- 
deavour to  find  some  mitigation  of  our  dutv,  and  some 
more  easy  means  of  obtaining  the  same  end.  We  then, 
relax  our  vigour,  and  resolve  no  longer  to  he  terrified 
with  crimes  at  a  distance  :  but  rely  on  our  own  constant 
^jTf  and  venture  to  approach  what  we  rwiolve  never  !• 


touch.     We  thus  enter  tlie  bowers  of  eaae,  and  repo«e  h» 

the  shades  of  security. 

16.  **Here  the  heart  softens,  and  vigilance*  subsides; 
we  are  then  willing  to  inquire  whether  another  advance 
camiot  be  made,  and  vhether  we  may  not,  at  least,  turft 
our  eyes  upon  the  gardens  of  pleasure.  We  approach 
them  ^vith  scrupb  and  hesitation  ;  we  enter  them,  but  en- 
ter timorous  and  trembling ;  and  always  hope  to  pass 
through  them  without  losing  the  road  of  virtue,  whichy 
for  a  while,  we  keep  in  our  sight,  and  to  which  we  jDur- 
posey  to  leturn.  But  temptation  succeeds  temptation, 
and  one  compliance  prepares  us  for  another ;  we  in  time 
lose  the  happiness  of  innocence,  and  solace*  our  disqui- 
et with  sensual  gratification. 

17.  '*By  degrees,  we  let  fall  the  remembrance  of  our 
original  intention,  and  quit  the  only  adec[uate«  object  or 
rational  desire.  We  entangle  ourselves  in  business,  im- 
merge*  ourselves  in  luxury,'^  and  rove  through  the  laby- 
rinths'^ of  inconstancy  ;  till  the  darkness  of  old  age  begms 
to  invade'  us,  and  disease  and  anxiety  obstruct/ our  way. 
We  then  look  back  upon  our  lives  with  horror,  with  sor- 
row, with  repentance ;  and  wish,  but  too  often  vainly 
wish,  that  we  had  not  forsaken  the  ways  of  virtue. 

18.  "Happy  are  they,  my  son,  who  shall  learn  from 
thy  example,  not  to  despair ;  but  shall  remember,  that, 
though  the  day  is  past,  and  their  strength  is  wasted,  there 
yet  remains  one  effort-  to  be  made  :  that  reformation  is 
never  hopeless,  nor  sincere  endeavours  ever  unassisted; 
that  the  wanderer  may  at  length  return  after  all  his  errors  ; 
and  that  he  who  implores  strength  and  courage  from  a- 
bove,  shall  find  danger  and  dilfic  dty  give  way  before  him. 
Go  now,  my  son  to  thy  repos(  ;  commit  thyself  to  the 
care  of  Omnipotence  ;'•  and  when  the  morning  calls  again 
to  toil,  begin  anew  thy  journey  and  thy  life." 

IXR.  JOHNSON* 


CHAPTER  111. 


SECTION  1. 

#  In-he-rent,  !n-h*'-Ti*nt,  exisfiHg  in      vlt    In-sig  nif-i-cnpt,    !n-s!g-nir-fJ-4Ai>(|^ 

t  Al  lij-nion,  Al-li'-zhfln,  n  leffreiice  ti  '        uwini|fortant,  uninf.aning 

e  Stat-ue,  Bl4t'-t8liu,un  iuuijrf;  'i  Do-ay,  df^-nl',  lo  refustj,  d'tAOxrn 

«i  Su  por-tlu-oDK,  5^  |)f r'-llu-is,  exubc  \j  IJii-iipca  kn-lde,  fin-sp6'-AA-bl,  not  tA 


rant,  over-iihun(iaiU 
e  Sciilp-tor,hkfllj»'-lfir,  a  carver  in  wood 

or  gtoiie 
/  Plo-b«-ian,  pli'-b^-yin,  vulgar,  com 

nioii,  mean  |ic:><)ii 
g  Fl-del  i-ty,   fi-del'-i  li,  faithful   ad 


hcrcncc 


b*  cxpres!f:«!d 
/.-  Fi.iur  isb,  lifir'-r!sh,  to  prosper,  boa«* 
/  Phid-i-Hs,  fW'-*-As,  a  celcbraied   itar 

luary  of  AtlioiiB 

;*ru.\-ii-ul<"s,    priksh'-^-lix,   a  far 

tiious  dcutpiur  uf  lUugiia  Gjaeci^ 


,1 


2Vif  importance  of  a  good  Education. 


CONSIDER,  a  human  soul,  without  educfllio!^, 
like  marble  in  a  quarry  ;  wliich  shows  none  of  its  inher- 
ent* beauties,  until  the  skill  of  th(^  polisher  letches  out  the 
colours,  maker,  the  surface  shine,  and  discovers  every  or- 
namental cloud,  s|)ot,  and  vein,  that  rurs  through  the  bo- 
dy of  it.  Education,  after  the  same  manner,  ^vheu  it 
works  upon  a  noble  mmd,  draws  out  to  view  every  latent 
virtue  iind  perA  ction,  M'hieh,  without  such  helps,  are  ne- 
ver able  to  make  their  appearance. 

2.  If  my  reader  will  give  me  leave  to  chanjre  the  allu- 
sion'^ so  soon  upoo  him,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  same  in- 
stance to  illustrate  the  force  of  education,  w  hich  Aristotle 
has  brought  to  explain  his  doctrine  of  substantial  forms, 
when  he  tells  us  that  a  statue*^  lies  hid  in  a  block  of  mar- 
ble :  and  that  the  art  of  the  statuary  onfy  clears  away  the 
superfluous'^  matter,  and  removes  tfle  rubbish.  The  fig^- 
ure  is  in  the  stone,  and  the  sculptar  only  finds  it. 

S.  What  sculpture  is  to  a  block  of  marble,  education  is 
to  a  human  soul.  The  philosopher,  the  saint,  or  the  he- 
ro, the  wise,  the  good,  or  the  great  man,  very  often  lit^ 
hid  and  concealed  in  aplebeian,/which  a  proper  educatioa 
might  have  disinterred,  and  have  brought  to  light.  I  am 
therefore  much  delighted  with  reading  the  accounts  oi 
•ava{;e   nations ;  and  with   contemplating  thos«  virtuui 


iM  EnoI/ISH  KcADeR.  Pari  1. 

which  are  wild  and  uncultivated  :  to  ece  courage  ei:erting 
itself  in  fierceness,  resolution  in  obstinacy,  wisdom  in  cun- 
jiinj;,  patience  in  suUenness  and  despair. 

4.  Men's  passions  operate  variously,  and  appear  ;n  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  iictions,  according  as  tiiey  are  more  or  less 
rectified  and  swayed  by  reason.  When  one  hears  of  ne- 
groes, wh  >,  upon  tlie  death  of  their  masters,  or  upon 
changing  theirservice,  hang  themselves  uponthenext  tree> 
as  it  sometimes  happens  in  our  American  plan  tactions,  who 
can  forbear  ad.ninng  their  fidehty.,s  though  it  exprtB&es 
itself  in  so  dreadful  a  manner  ? 

5.  What  might  not  that  savage,  greatness  of  soul,  which 
appears  in  those  poor  wretches  on  many  occasions,  b« 
raised  to,  were  it  rightly  cultivated  ?  And  what  colour  of 
exxiuse  can  there  be,  for  the  contempt  with  which  we 
treat  this  part  of  our  species  ;  that  we  should  not  put 
them  upon  the  common  footing  of  humanity ;  that  we 
should  only  set  an  insignificant'  line  upon  the  man  who 
murders  them  ;  nay,  that  we  shouM,  as  much  as  in  us 
•tes,  cut  them  oft*  from  the  prospects  of  happiness  in  an- 
other world,  as  well  as  in  this  ;  and  deny*  them  that  which 
ire  look  upon  as  the  proper  means  for  attaiiii^ig  it  ? 

6.  It  is  therefore  an  unspeakable;  blessing,  to  be  born 
X  thos.e  parts  oi  the  world  where  wisdom  and  knowledge 
f  JAurish  ;*  though,  it  must  be  confessed,  there  are,  even  m 
trese  parts,  several  poor  uninstructed  persons,  who  are 
but  little  above  the  inhabitants  of  those  nations,  of  which 
I  nave  been  he;re  speaking ;  as  those,  who  feave  had  the 
advantages  of  a  more  liberal  education,  rise  above  one 
another  by  several  different  degrees  of  perfection. 

7.  For,  to  return  to  our  statue  in  the  block  of  marble, 
wc  see  it  sorxietimes  only  begun  to  be  chipped,  sometimes 
rough  hewn,  and  but  just  sketched  '.nto  a  human  figure; 
sometimes  we  see  the'  man  appearing  distinctly  in  all  his 
limbs  and  features  ;  sometimes,  we  find  the  figure  wrought 
up  to  great  elegancy  ;  but  seldom  meet  with  any  to  which 
the  hand  of  a  rhidias^or  a  Praxiteles'"  could  not  give  se^ 
veral  nice  touches  and  finishings.  addison. 

SECTION  II. 


m  Dif-fi-cu1t,d!r-f%-kfilt,  hard  to  please, 

troublesome 
.k  PoB-i-tive,  p6z'-zi-ilv,  real,  direct 
M  En-join,  4n-idln',  to  direct,  to  order 
d  B*n-o-fiL,  b6a'-4-nt,  a  Iundj3«ss,  &d- 

«tOt«f«,t>0  j»«lp 


e  En-joy,  Jn-jAA',  to  feel  with  pleiuure 
/  Seii-sa-tiou,  nin-si'-sh&u,  perceptiua 
by  the  seuses 

f  Ex-alt,  ^^z-ilt',  to  eksvate,  to  extol 
E!»p-tur»..  r4p'-Ub6re,  ec«t*ey.  trui 
port 


CkajK  ft. 


BlDACTlC    FiSCXtr 


On  Gratitude. 

1.  There  Is  not  a  more  pleasing  exercise  of  the  mind, 
than  grdtitude.  It  is  accompaniea  with  so  great  inward 
satisraciion,  that  the  duty  is  sufficiently  rewarded  by  the 
ptrformance.  It  is  not  .»ke  the  practice  of  many  other 
virtues,  difficulta  and  painful,  but  attended  with  so  much 
pleasure,  that  were  there  no  positive*  command  which  en- 
loined'  it,  nor  any  recompense  laid  up  for  it  hereafter,  a 
generous  mind  would  indulge  it,  lor  the  natural  gratifica- 
tion  which  it  afibrds. 

$.  if  gratitude  is  due  from  man  to  man,  how  much 
mor»  from  man  to  his  Maker :  The  Supreme  Being  docs 
not  only  confer  upon  us  those  bounties  which  proceed, 
more  immediately  from  his  hand,  but  even  those  benefits* 
which  are  conveyed  to  us  by  others.  Every  blessing  wc 
enjoy,'  by  what  means  soever  it  may  be  derived  upon  us, 
is  the  gift  of  Him  who  is  the  great  Author  of  good,  and 
the  Father  of  merci<  s. 

S.  If  gratitude,  when  exerted  towards  one  another,  na- 
turally produces  a  very  pleasing  sensation/ in  the  mind  of 
a  grateiul  man,  it  exalts^  the  soul  into  rapture,^  when  it  is 
cnmloyed  on  this  great  object  of  gratitude  :  on  this  be- 
ntficent  15eing,  who  has  given  us  every  thing  we  already 

Possess,  and  iVom  whom  we  expect  every  thing  we  yet 
ope  for.  ADDisoif. 

SECTION  ill. 


«  Eq-ul-ty,  ?k'-kwi-tA,  jnslico,  right 
k  In-i'X  o-ra-blR,  !n-iko'-4  r&-bl,   not  U 

be  jcritrcu.ed,  not  to  be  inuvcd  b} 

eniieaiy 
B  Con-s'fiou!?,  k6n'-sl:iig,  inwardly  per 

suad.ed,  admitted  to  the  knowlrdgf 

«f  any  thing,  knowing  from  nicni- 

nrv 
d  Frail-ty,  fi^le'-ti,  weaknesB,  instabil- 
ity 
e  Mutual,  m/i'-tshii-Al.  reciprocal 
/  For-he-ur-ance,  rirbiic'-iinse,  eom- 

maad  of  temper 


^  Re  tali-ate,  rft-tAl'-i-ite,  tofivtttk« 

lor  hke 

fi  Exur  bi-tant,  ^gz-hr'-bk-tkni,  tnor* 
inouii,  excesHive 

i  Pre-icribe,  pri-skrlbe',  to  order,  direct 

j  Suc-cuu-sion,  sfik-H^iEh'-Su,  llDoai  or- 
der 

Jc  Uiiz-nrd,  hAz'-&rd,  chance,  daogvr^ 
to  rihk 

I  Kft-gion,  ri'-j6n,  country,  tract  if 
spnce 

m  Wi;^-nan-i-mou3,  mig-D4n'-i-m£jB, 
^'rea.t  of  mind 


On  Forgiveness. 
1.  Thk  most  plain  and  natural   Bcntiments  of  eouity« 
concur  with  divine  authority,  to  enforce  the  duty  of  for^r 

fiveness.     Let  him  who  has  never  in  his  Hfe  done  wrong, 
e  allowed  the  privilege  of  remaining  inexorable.*    But 
|«C  such  a6  are  conscious'  c  f  frailties^  and  crinxea^  consi^ 


00  Errousn  Rkadjui.  fori  | 

er  for^renesa  as  a  debt  which  they  owe  to  others.     Com 
mon  wilings  are  the  stron*;est  lesson  to  mutual*  forbear- 
ance./   Were  this  virtue  unknown  among  men,  order  and 
comfort,  peace  and  repose,  would  be  strangers  to  human 
life. 

£.  Injuries  retaliated?  according;  to  the  exorbitant* 
measure  which  passion  prescribes,'  would  excite  reseat- 
mient  in  return.  The  injured  person  would  become  the 
injurer;  and  thus  wron^^s,  retaliations,  and  fresh  injuries, 
would  circulate  in  endle.-s  succession,^  till  the  world  was 
rendered  a  field  of  blood.  Of  all  the  passions  which  in- 
vade tile  human  breast,  reven.i;i'  is  the  most  direful. 

8.  When  allowed  to  reign  with  full  dominion,  it  is  more 
|(han  sulhci'^nt  to  poison  the  few  pleasures  which  remain 
to  man  in  his  present  state.  How  much  soever  a  person 
may  sulff-r  from  injustice,  he  is  ahvays  in  hazard<=  of  suf- 
fering more  from  the  prosecution  of  revenji^e.  The  vio- 
lence of  an  enemy  cannot  iiillict  what  is  equal  to  the  tor- 
ment he  creates  to  himself,,  by  the  means  of  the  fierce 
and  desperate  passions  which  he  allows  to  rage  in  his 
Boul. 

4.  Those  evil  spirits  who  inhabit  the  regiorrs'  of  mise- 
ry, are  represented  as  delightinp;  in  revenge  and  cruelty. 
But  all  that  is  great  and  good  in  the  universe,  is  on  the 
side  of  clemency  and  mercy.  The  Almighty  Ruler  of 
the  world,  thougli  for  ages  offended  by  the  unrighteous- 
ness, and  insulted  by  the  impiety  of  men,  is  **  long  suf- 
fering and  slow  to  anger." 

5.  His  Son,  when  he  appeared  in  our  nature,  exhibH- 
ed,  both  in  his  life  and  his  death,  the  most  illLstrious  ex- 
ample of  forgiveness  wliich  the  world  ever  belield.  if  we 
look  into  the  history  of  mankind,  we  shall  find  that,  in 
every  a^e,  they  who  have  been  respected  as  wort'^y,  or 
admired  as  great,  have  been  distinguished  for  this  virtue. 

6.  Revenge  dwells  in  little  minds.  A  noble  and  mag- 
nanimous"* spirit  is  always  superior  to  it.  It  suflers  not 
from  the  injuries  of  men  those  severe  shocks  wliich  oth- 
ers feel.  Collected  within  itself,  it  stands  unmoved  by 
their  impotent  assaults  ;  and  with  generous  pity,  rather 
than  anger,  looks  down  on  their  unworthy  conduct.  It 
has  been  truly  said,  that  the  greatest  man  on  earth  can 
no  sooner  commit  an  injury,  than  a  good  man  can  make 
tiimself  greater,  by  forgiving  it.  Bt-iia. 


Okz^S- 


DiDACTrC    PiXCKS. 

SECTION  IV. 


0^ 


•  Pro-mot^,  pr6-mAto',  %o  forward,  »jx- 
nil,  prefer 

k  Cbjtr-ttC-fer,  kir'-ik-tfir>  reputation 
niaik,  '.fitter 

c  Iii-(!ul  ^ence,  !i)-d6r-j?.ri8e,  tendofuesK 
ffvrgivrnesR 

d  Sc-ver-i-fy,  si-vSr'-^-t*^,  cruel  treat- 
ment 

e  Ku-ti-tle,  ?n-fl'-tl,  to  give  a  clajm 

/  Rrj-or-ons,  r?g'  gftr-iii«,  Hlrirt-,,  severe 

ff  Piidc,  pride,  inordinate  self- esteem 


A   In  cent-ive,  !n-s?nt^-!T,   that   whicfc 

kindles,  provokes,  or  encourages, 

•a  motive 
IMc'-di-um,    mfe'-d^-fim,    the   iniddi« 

state 
j  Fab-rick,  fib'  r!k,  a  building,  a  %f»' 

tern 
k  Al-ioii-ate.  il^'-y^n-ite,  to  withdraw 

the  nflections 
I  An-tic-i-pntc,  An-tfp'-i-pkle,  to  taX» 

up  before  the  time 


Motives  to  the- practice  of  g*;ntleness>. 

1.  To  promote  the  virtue  of  ^entlcnrss,  wp  oueht  to- 
view  our  charactpr''  with  an  imnarti?il  eye  ;  and  tT[3  Iran), 
from  our  own  AfTTmgs,  to  j^ive  that  indnljiience,*^^  which  in 
our  turn  wc  claim.  It  is  pridr  wliicli  fills  Xha  work!  with 
§o  much  harshness  ard  severity. '^  In  the  fullness  of  self- 
estimation,  we  forjcet  w  hat  wi;  are.  TVe  claim  attentions 
to  which  we  are  not  entitled.'-  We  are  riviorous/  to  of^ 
fences,  as  if  we  had  never  offended  ;  unfeeling  to  distress, 
as  if  we  kneAv  not  what  it  was  to  sufTt^r.  From  lliose  airy 
Fcgions  of  pride i*^  and  folly,  let  us  descend  to  our  proocix 
level. 

2.  Let  us  survey  the  natural  equality  on  which  ^.oV\ 
dence  has  placed  mafi  with  man,  and  reflect  on  the  infir 
mities  common  to  all.  U  the  reflection  on  natural  e(]ual- 
ity  and  mutual  offences,  he  insufficient  to  prorr.pt  human- 
ity, let  us  at  least  n-memher  what  we  are  in  the  sight  of 
our  Creator.  Have  we  none  of  that  forhearance  to  g've 
one  another,  which  we  all  so  earnestly  intreat  from  hea- 
ven ?  Can  we  look  for  clemency  or  «]^entleness  from  our 
Judg-e,  when  we  are  so  hack  ward  to  shew  it  to  our  breth- 
ren I 

S.  Let  us  also  accustom  ourselves,  to  reflect  on  the 
small  moment  of  those  things,  which  are  the  usual  incen- 
Hvtsh  to  violence  and  contention.  In  the  ruffled  and  an- 
p;ry  hour,  we  vii'w  every  appearance  throuj:;h  a  false  me- 
dium.' The  mo&t  incons'^derahle  point  of  interest,  or  hon- 
our, swells  into  a  ir.omentous  object :  and  the  slightest  at- 
tack seems  to  threaten  immediate  ruin. 

4.  Hut  after  passion  or  pride  has  subsided,  we  look  a-v 
round  in  vain  for  the  mi?:htvm.ischiefs  we  dreaded.  The 
fabric,.?  which  our  disturbed  imap;ination  had  reared,  to- 
tally disappears.  15ut  though  the  cause  of  contention 
bas  dwiiiidled  away.  'Us  con&e(|b)enc€«  resoaia.     We  bavs 


Ot;  En&usn  Rsadeiu  i^rt  1 

alienated*  a  fiiend ;  we  have  embittered  an  enemy  ;  tt« 
have  sown  the  seeds  of  future  suspicion,  malevolence,  or 
disgust. 

5.  Let  us  suspend  our  violenice  for  a  moment,  when 
causes  of  discora  occur.  Let  us  anticipate'  that  period 
of  coolness,  which  of  itfcelf,  will  soon  arrive.  Let  us  re- 
flect how  little  we  have  any  prospects  of  j^aining  by  fierce 
contention  ;  but  how  much  of  the  true  happiness  of  life 
wc  are  certain  of  throwing  away.  Easily,  and  from  the 
smallest  chink,  the  bitter  waters  of  strife  are  let  forth  ; 
but  their  course  cannot  be  foreseen  ;  and  he  sddom  fails 
of  suffering  most  from  their  poisonous  cfi'ect,  who  first 
lUlowedtUem  jto  How.  bjlair. 

SECTION  V, 


conception,  seiznre 

g-  Treach-er-y,  trSish' 4r -i,  ;>erfid7 
breach  of  failli 

A  Ir-ri-tate,  Ir'-r^-li.te,  to  provoke,  ex- 
asperate 

»  El-i-gi  i>le.  ?r-4-ji-bI,  preferiLWe,  fit  !• 
Uo  chosen 

j  Cav-crn,  k4v'-urn,  a  cave,  den,  hole 


«  Sus-pic-oiii,  iSi-plsh'-as,  inclined  to 

suspect 
h  As-per-i-ty,  is-pir'-i-ti,    rougIine<JS, 

har»l)nei's 
c  In-cur,  In-kfir',  to  become  'iable  to 
d  Jeal-ous-y,  jil'-lis-i,    Buspicioo    ir 

love 
§  Spy,  spl,  one  who  watches  others 
/  Ap-pre-honnion,    4p-pri-li6ii'-sh5n, 

A  suspicious  temper  the  source  of  misery  to  its  possessor. 

1.  As  a  suspicious"  spirit  is  the  source  of  many  crimes 
and  calamities  in  the  world,  so  it  is  the  sprinjj;  o?  certain 
misery  to  the  person  who  indulges  it.  I J  is  friends  will 
be  few ;  and  small  will  be  his  comfort  in  those  whom  he 
possesses.  Believing  others  to  be  his  enemies,  he  will  of 
course  make  them  such.  Let  his  caution  be  ever  so  ^reat, 
the  asperity^  of  his  thoughts  will  offcien  break  out  m  his 
behaviour ;  and  in  return  for  suspecting  and  hating,  he 
will  incur  suspicion  and  hatred. 

2.  Besides  the  external  evils  which  he  draws  upon  him- 
self, arising  from  alienated  friendship,  broken  confidence, 
and  open  enmity,  the  suspicious  tenmer  itself  is  one  of 
the  worst  evils  which  any  man  can  suiter.  If  "  in  ail  fear 
there  is  torment,"  ht)vv  miserable  must  be  his  stMte  who, 
by  living  m  perpetual  jealousy,  /  lives  in  perpt'tual  dread  ? 

S.  Looking  upon  hmiself  to  be  surrounded  with  spies,* 
enemies,  and  designing  men,  he  is  a  stranger  to  n^hance 
and  trust,  lie  knows  not  to  whom  to  open  himself.  He 
dresses  his  countenance  in  forced  smiles,  while  his  heart 
l.h»o>b8  within  from  apprehensioos/  of  secret  ttetucheryj 


Chap.  5,  Didactic  Pieces.  Cf 

Hence  fretful noss  and  ill-humour,   dlsrust  rt  the  world, 
and  all  thf  painful  sensations  of  /  ted*  and  embit- 

tered mind. 

4.  »S(»  numerous  and  {i^reat  are  the  evils  ar:s»np:  from  a 
suspicious  dis[»oiiit.i(in,  tliat,  of  ihe  two  e\'*r«ejnes,  it  is 
mure,  cii^iljle-  to  exptise  <juiselves  to  (iC':asi«»nai  disadvan- 
ta^^e  frn'M  thinking  tt».»  well  of  others,  than  to  sufljiT  con- 
tinual mis«'ry  U\  thiiikin;:  always  ill  t>f  them.  It  is  bet- 
ter to  b<*  r^onietnnes  imposed  upon,  than  never  to  trust. 
Safety  in  pur^'hased  at  loo  dear  a  rate,  wlien,  in  order  to 
seen  e  it,  ue  are  ol)lij;ed  to  be  always  clad  in  armour,  and 
to  live  in  ])erpetual  hostility  with  our  fellows. 

5.  This  is,  for  the  sake  of  living;,  to  deprive  ourselves 
of  the  comfort  of  life.  Tlie  man  of  candour  enjoys  his 
situation,  whatever  it  is,  with  cheerfulness  an^l  peace. 
J*rudence  directs  his  intercourse  with  the  world;  but  no 
black  susjiicions  haunt  his  hours  of  rest.  Accustomed 
to  view-  the  characters  of  his  neighbours  in  the  most  fa- 
vourable light,  he  is  like  one  who  dwells  amidst  those 
beautiful  scenes  of  nature  on  which  the  eye  rests  with 
pleasure. 

6.  Whereas  the  suspicious  man  having  his  imagination 
filled  with  all  fhe  shocking  forms  of  human  falsehood,  de- 
ceit, and  treachery,  resembles  the  traveller  in  the  wilder- 
ness, who  discerns  no  objects  around  him  but  such  as  are 
either  dreary  or  terrible  ;  caverns>  that  open,  serpents 
that  hiss,  and  beasts  of  prey  that  howl.  blair. 

SECTION  VI. 


«  Resource,  ri-.  6  rgc',  resort,  "xpedierr 
b  I>y-lu-«ive,  di-lii  -flv,  apt  to  (!t^c<i\f 
c  G«u-«r-«ui>,  j<-n'-hrfii>,  lioble,  munid- 

ccnt 
d  Iii-ac-ces-»ii-i)le,  tn-Alc-siti'ei-bl,  not 


to  bo  appmarhed 
e  Rcf-u;,'©,  uC-i'iuije^    shelter,  protec* 

tiiMi 
/  Re-iuiu,  ri-t4co',  to  keep  in  raiod, 

an  tu  dismiss 


Comfort  of  Religion* 
1.  Therk  are  many  who  have  passed  the  age  of  youth 
andbeauiy;  who  having  resigned  the  plcasur-es  oT  that 
smiling  season  ;  who  be^in  to  decline  into  the  vale  of 
years/impaired  in  their  health,  denrevised  in  their  for- 
tiint^s,  stript  of  their  friends,  their  cniidren,  and  perhaps 
Btill  more  tender  connexions,  \\hat  resfuirce«  can  this 
world  aftbrd  them  ?  Jt  presents  a  dark  and  dreary  waste, 
through  which  there  does  not  i^tsue  a  single,  ray  ofeo^Di- 


70  Ejn'glisii  Header,  Part  I 

2.  Everj'^  delusive*  prospect  of  ambitlQa  Is  now  at  an 
end ;  lonj;  experience  of  mankind,  an  experience  very 
different  from  what  the  open  and  generous''  soul  of  youtU 
had  fondly  dreampt  of,  has  rendered  the  heart  almost  in- 
accessible'^ to  new  friendships.  The  principal  sources 
'of  activity  are  taken  away,  when  they  for  wliom  we  la- 
hour  are  cut  off  from  us  ;  they  who  animated,  and  who 
sweetened  all  the  toils  of  life. 

.'  3.  Where  can  the  soul  find  refuse,*  hut  in  the  bosom 
of  Reli5;ion  ?  There  she  is  admitted  to  those  prospects 
of  Providence  and  futurity,  which  alone  ean  warm  and 
fill  the  hfvart.  1  speak  here  of  such  as  retain/ the  feel- 
ings of  humanity  :  whom  misfortunes  have  softened,  and 
perhaps  rendered  more  delicately  sensible  ;  not  of  such 
as  possess  that  stupid  insensibility,  Avhich  some  are  pleas- 
ed to  dij^nify  with  the  name  of  philosophy. 

4.  It  migfit  therefore  be  expected,  that  those  philoso- 
phers who  think  they  stand  in  no  need  themselves  of  the 
assistance  of  reli^^^ion  to  support  their  virtue,  and  who  ne- 
Tcr  feci  the  want  of  its  consolations,  would  yet  have  tho 
humanity  to  consider  the  very  different  situjition  of  the 
rest  of  mankijid  ;  and  not  endeavour  to  deprive  them  of 
what  habit  at  least,  if  they  will  not  allow  it  to  be  naturfi. 
has  made  necessary  to  their  morals,  and  to  their  happi- 
ness. >  ,^ 

5.  It  might  be  expected,  that  humanity  would  prevent 
tViem  from  breaking  into  the  last  retreat  of  the  unfortu- 
nate, who  can  no  longer  be  objects  of  their  envy  or  n»- 
sentment ;  and  tearing  from  them  their  only  remaining 
comfort.  The  attempt  to  ridicule  religion  may  be  agree- 
able to  some,  by  relieving  them  from  restraint  upon  their 
pl-easures  ;  and  may  render  others  very  miserable,  by  ma- 
king them  doubt  those  truths,  in  which  they  were  most 
deeply  interested  ;  but  it  can  convey  real  good  and  hap- 
piness to  no  one  individual.  Gregory. 

SECTfoN  VIL 

«  Biu-cern,  fHz-7.?rn',  (o  see,  cli>;tin£riiis}i[  /  Ex-plodn,  ^ks-pIAde',  to  decry,  drlv* 
k  Hu-niil-i-ry,    hu-rnil'-i-t^,     modesty,  tuit  witl)  nun^o 

lowliiiRss  \g  Con-fu-U.-rion,   k6n-f6-ti    ,hfin,  act 

•  Grace-fiil-ly,  grise'  ful-1^,  beautiful-j        of  confuting 

ly  A  Am-ber,  Am'-biV,  a  yellow  tri».ns|vr 

d  Ro,-Berve,  r^'-z&rv',  to  keep  in  store     j        rem  sul/stnnc^' 
«  Pio-ric  i«n  cy,     prA-fL-h'-fen-ee,    ad-  <  Maws,  mis,  a  body,  the  servtco  of  thi 

ir«iiic«muiii  in  !t<!SLr;nn^',  ptolit  .)        li^rufti}  <>lturcii' 


Chop,  *.  Didactic  Vi&qes^  71 

Dijfidence  of  our  aljiliiks^  a  mark  of  wisdom, 

1.  It  is  a  sure  indication  of  good  sense,  to  be  diffident 
ftf  it.  Wo  then,  and  not  till  then,  are  growing  Avise, 
ivhen  -vve  begin  to  discern t  how  weak  and  unwMse  we  are. 
An  absolutes  perfection  of  understanding,  is  impossible: 
lie  makes  thr  near(!st  approaches  to  it,  who  has  the  Ecnse 
to  discern,  and  the  humility''  to  acknowledge  its  imper- 
ft'ciions. 

2.  JModt'sty  always  sits  gracefully^  upon  youth;  it  cov- 
ers a  multitude  of  (aults,  and  doubles  the  lustre  of  every 
virtue  which  it  seems  to  hide  :  the  perfections  of  men  be- 
ing like  those  flowers  which  appear  more  beautiful,  when 
tiaeir  U^aves  are  a  little  contracted  and  folded  up,  than 
when  they  are  full  blown,  and  display  themselves  with- 
out any  reserve,-^  to  the  view. 

3.  VVe  are  some  of  us  very  fond  of  knowledge,  and  apt 
to  val<ie  ourselves  upon  any  proficiency*  in  the  sciences  : 
jne  science,  however,  there  is,  worth  more  than  all  the 
rest,  and  that  is,  the  science  of  living  well ;  w hich  shall 
remain,  when  '*  tongues  shall  cease,'  and  **  knowledge 
shall  vanish  away.'* 

4.  As  to  new  notions,  and  new  doctrines,  of  which 
this  age  is  very  fruitful,  tlie  time  will  come,  when  we  shall 
have  no'plfrasure  in  them  :  nay,  the  time  shall  come,  when 
they  shaU  be  exploded,/ and  would  have  f)een  forgotten, 
if  they  iiad  r>ot  been  preserved  in  those  excellent  books, 
which  contain  a  ccmfutation*^  of  them  ;  like  insects  pre- 
served for  ages  in  amber,^  which  otherwise  would  soon 
have  returned  t-o  the  common  mass'  of  things. 

5.  JUit  a  firm  belief  of  Christianity,  and  a  practice  suit- 
able to  it,  will  su})port  and  invigorate  the  mind  to  the  last ; 
and  most  of  all,  at  last,  at  that  important  hour,  which 
must  decide  our  hopes  and  apprehensions  :  and  the  wis- 
dom, which,  like  our  Saviour,  cometh  from  above,  will 
through  his  merits  bring  us  thither.  All  our  other  stu 
dies  and 'pursuits,  however  dififerent,  ought  to  be  subser- 
vient to,  and  centre  in,  this  grand  point,  the  pursuit  of 
eternal  happiness,  by  being  good  in  ourselves,  and  useful 

o  the  world.  seed. 


SECTION  Vlll. 

"I 


m  Coro-mit,  kAm-in!t',  to  intrust,  impri-l        who  has  a  thiii?,  in  trtiflt,  a  place 

•on,  perpetrat«i  v.  here  a  thing  if  deposited 

*   D«^«»->t-ft-rv,    d*-j>4»'-Jt-A-f  A,  onojc  Spa€o,  spitse,  room,  quantity  Of  tin» 


Tl 


fiNGMSH   ReaDEIU 


Jhx-i  I. 


d  Eki-erottcti,  In-krittV,  to  rnak«  inva- 
sion upon  ihe  rightu  of  others 
e  DM-po-sai,  d!8-pi'-zi-l,  rcj|^ulatiua,dis 

tributiun 
/  Sur-re«-<lcr,   sfir-rfn'-dSr,  to  deliver 

up 
f  Cha.-(fS,  kii'-is,   the  state  of  matter 

before  the  creation,  irregular  mix 

tare 
k  Ap-pre-ci  a-tion,  Ap-pr<^-slii  4,'-s}i?h<, 

estimation,  ilic  act  of  letting  a  val 

ue  upon  any  thi»« 
«  S»iuan-der,  *kw6B-d5r,    to    lavifch 

wast« 
j  Ifl-cou-«id-er-at«,   1n-k6ji-s!il'-^r-ite, 

thoughtless 
k  Pro-fu-sion,    pri-fi'-zhfia,    extrava 

|^attc« 


I  Cov-6-tous,  kfiv'^vJ-tibi,   &T«rie{oai^ 

eager 
m  Proa-i-gal,  pr4d'-d4-gil,  wa6t«fu^  a 

gpeiMlthrift 
H  Re  gret,  r^-gr5t',  bitter  reflection,  to 

fci.eiit 
«  Coiitu-sion,  k»n-fi'-zhfiu,   astonish* 

ineul,  tniijult 
p  lio-jKjnt-ar.ce,   r^-]>Sni'-Anse,  sorrow 

lor  sin 
q  An  guisij,  ing'-gw?sh,  excessive  paio 
r  Maii-i-fold,  niAn'-ii«i-l^id-,  of  diftereiit 

s   Re-deein,  r*-d*iro',   to  ransom,  to 

pardon 
t  Pro-iong,  pr'A  ling',  to  lengthen  out 
u  Ar-rest,  4r-rgtii',  a  restraintof  a  raan'i 

IJerson,  to  slop 


On  the  importance  of  order  in  the  distribution  of  our  time. 
1.  Time  we  ouj^ht  to  consider  as  a  sacred  trust  com- 
initted«  to  us  by  God ;  of  which  we  are  now  tlie  deposi- 
taries,*' and  are  to  render  an  account  at  the  last.  That 
portion  of  it  which  he  has  allotted  to  us,  is  intended  part- 
ly for  the  concerns  of  this  world,  partly  for  those  or  the 
next-  Let  each  of  these  occupy,  in  tne  distribution  of 
our  time,  that  space^  which  properly  belongs  to  it. 

4-  Let  not  the  hours  of  hospitality  and  pleasure  inter- 
fere with  the  discharge  of  our  necessary  affairs  ;  and  let 
not  what  we  call  necessary  affairs,  encroach**  upon  the 
time  wiiich  is  due  to  devotion.  To  every  thing  there  is 
a  season,  and  a  time  for  every  purpose  under  the  heaven. 
If  we  delay  till  to-morrow  what  ought  to  be  done  to-day, 
"we  overcharge  the  morrow  with  a  burden  which  belongs 
not  to  it.  We  load  the  wheels  of  tim«,  and  prevent  thein 
from  carrying  us  along  smootlily. 

3.  He  who  every  morning  plans  the  transactions  of  the 
day,  and  follows  out  that  oian,  carries  on  a  thread  which 
MiJl  guide  him  through  tiie  labyrinth  of  the  most  busy 
life.  The  orderly  arrangement"  of  his  time  is  like  a  ray 
of  light,  which  darts  itself  through  all  his  affairs,  liut, 
where  no  plan  is  laid,  where  the  disposal'  of  time  is  sur- 
rendered.^ mere  y  to  the  chance  of  incidents,  all  tilings  lie 
litiddled  t(»g<ither  in  one  chaos,*'  which  admits  neitiier  of 
distribution  nor  review. 

4.  The  first  re<juis5te  for  introducing  order  into  the 
management  of  our  time,  is  to  be  imjjressed  ^"ith  a  just 
fien^.  of  its  vjue.  Let  us  consider  well  tiow  much  de- 
f«ed9  ^ipoa  it,  and  how  hsi  it  fljea  away.    The  bulk  of 


Vhap,  ».  piOACTic  PIECES  t5 

tnen  an?  in  nothing  more  capricious  or  InoonslBtcnt,  than 
in  tlieir  appreciation''  of  time.  When  they  think  of  H»  ^ 
the  measure  of  their  continuance  on  earth,  they  highly 
prijie  it,  and  with  the  greatest  anxiety  seek  to  lengthen  it 
out. 

5«  But  when  they  view  it  in  separate  parcels,  they  ap- 
'near  to  hold  it  in  contempt,  and  squander'  it  v.  ith  incon- 
iidenite>  prolusion. t  Wliile  tho.y  comphiin  that  life  is 
short,  they  are  often  wibhinj:;  ilb  dlllerent  periods  at  an 
end.  Covetous^  of  ertry  ottior  possession,  of  time  only 
they  are  prodigal.'"  They  iiUovv'  every  idle  man  to  be 
master  of  this  property,  and  make  every  frivolous  occu* 
pation  welcome  tliat  can  h^lp  them  to  consume  it. 

6.  Amonff  those  v*^ho  are  so  careless  of  time,  it  is  not  td 
be  expected  that  order  shoidd  be  observed  in  its  distri- 
bution, liut  by  tliis  fatal  neglect,  how  many  materials 
of  t<evere  and  lasting  regret"  are  they  laying  up  in  store 
for  themselves  I  The  time  which  they  softer  to  pass  away 
in  the  inidst  of  confusion,*  bitter  repentances*  seeks  after- 
>\'ards  in  vain  to  recal.  What  was  omitted  to  be  done  at 
its  proper  moment,  arises  to  bo  the  torment  of  some  fir^ 
ture  sciison. 

7.  Manhood  is  disgraced  by  the  consequences  of  neg- 
lected youth.  Old  age,  oppressed  by  cares  that  belong- 
ed to  a  former  period,  labours  under  a  burden  not  its  own. 
At  the  close  of  life,  the  dyin^man  beholds  with  anguish^ 
that  his  days  are  finisliing,  when  his  preparation  for  eter- 
nity is  hardly  commenced.  Such  are  the  effects  of  a 
disorderly  waste  of  time,  through  not  attending  to  its 
value-  Every  thing  in  the  life  of  such  persons  is  mis- 
placed. Nothing  is  performed  aright,  trom  not  being 
performed  in  due  season. 

8-  But  he  who  is  orderly  in  the  distribution  of  his  time, 
takes  the  proper  method  of  escaping  those  manifold'' 
evils.  He  is  justly  said  to  redeem*  the  time.  By  pro- 
per management,  he  proloiijs'  it.  He  lives  much  in  little 
space ;  more  in  a  fiiw  years  than  others  do  in  many.  He 
can  live  to  God  i  nd  Ins  own  soul,  and  at  the  same  time 
attend  to  all  the  lawful  interests  of  the  present  world. 
*le  looks  back  on  the  past,  and  provides  for  the  future. 

9.  He  catches  and  arrests"  the  hours  as  they  fly.  They 
are  marked  dywn  for  useful  purposes,  and  their  memory 
remains.  Vr  hereas  those  hours  fleet  by  the  man  of  con- 
fusion liV  'a  shadow.  His  day^  and  years  are  either 
blanks  of  which  he  has  no  remembrance,  or  they  are  iL 


74  English  Keader  Part  i. 

led  up  with  BO  confused  and  Irregular  succession  of  un- 
finished transactions,  that  though  he  remembers  he  has 
been  busy,  yet  he  can  give  no  account  of  the  business 
which  has  employed  him.  blair. 

SECTION  IX. 


A  t\-^^^       o5rn',  to  deck  with  orna 

ments 
h  Poi>-u-lar,  p6p'-pi-lAr,  pleasing  to  the 

p/M)!)!© 

«  Blo-ral-i-ty,  mi-ri'.'-i-t^,  the  doctrine 
of  the  duties  of  life 

d  In-teg-ri-ty,  in-»lg'-gri-t4,  honesty, 
purity 

§  Conj-pU-ance,  kim-pU'-Aiise,  yielding. 
accord 

/  De-gen-er-ate,  d4-j?n'-Sr-4te,  unwor- 
thy, base 

£■  Mul-li-tud^,   mfil'-ti-tfade,   a    great 


number 

/*  In-flex  i-ble,  fn-flSks'-i-bl,  not  to  be 
beiit 

i  Pos-ter-i-ty,  p6s-tSr'-^-t4,  offspring, 
children 

j  A-pos-ta-tize,  i-p6s'-tiL"tlze,  to  for- 
sake one's  religion 

k  Tiai)s-late,  trAns-liie',  to  remove,  ex- 
plain 

I  Con-ta-gi-on,  k6n-ti'-j4-fin,  infection, 
pestilence 

7/1  Fir-ina-ment.  f§r'-m4-mSnt,  the  sky, 
the  heavens 


Hie  dignity  of  virtue  amidst  corrupt  examples. 

1.  The  most  excellent  and  honourable  character  which 
ean  adorn"  a  man  and  a  Christian,  is  acquired  by  resist- 
ing the  torrent  of  vice,  and  adhering  to  the  cause  of  God 
and  virtue  against  a  corrupted  multitude.  It  will  be  found 
to  hold  in  general,  that  they,  who,  in  any  of  the  great 
Mnes  of  life,  have  distinguished  themselves  for  thinking 
profoundly,  and  acting  nobly,  have  despised  popular^  pre- 
judices ;  and  departed,  in  several  things,  from  the  com- 
mon ways  of  the  world. 

2.  On  no  occasion  is  this  more  requisite  for  true  hon- 
our, than  where  religion  ard  morality  are  concerned.  In 
times  of  prevailing  licentiousness,  to  maintain  unblemish- 
ed virtue,  and  uncorrupted  integrity  ;<'  in  a  public  or  a 
private  cause,  to  stand  firm  by  what  is  fair  and  just,  a- 
midst  discouragements  and  opposition  ;  despising  ground- 
less censure  and  reproach  ;  disdaining  all  compliance'  with 
public  manners,  wnen  they  are  vicious  and  unlawful ;  and 
never  ashamed  of  the  punctual  discharge  of  every  duty  to- 
wards God  and  man  ; — this  is  what  shows  true  greatness 
of  spirit,  and  will  force  approbation  even  from  the  degen- 
erate/ multitude^  themselves. 

S.  "This  is  the  man,"  (their  conscit^nce  will  oblige 
them  to  acknowledge,)  **  wnom  we  are  ui^uble  to  bend  tO 
iTiean  condescensionn.  We  see  it  in  vain  *eirher  to  flatter 
or  to  threaten  him  ;  he  rests  on  a  principla  wuh.inj^  which 
we  cannot  siiak'e      To  this  man  I'/e  may  on  any  occa.sion, 

1 


Chap.  S,  Didactic  Pieces.  7 

Bafely  commit  our  cause.     Ho  is  incapable  of  betraying 
his  trust,  or  deserting  his  friend,  or  dcnyinjj  his  faith." 

4.  It  is,  accordinj!;iy,  this  steady  iniU'xibley'  virtue,  this 
regard  to  principle,  superior  to  all  custom  and  opinioi 
which  peculiarly  marked  the  characters  of  lliose  in  an_y 
age,  who  have  shown  with  distir.guishtd  lustre  ;  and  hai^ 
consecrated  their  memory  to  posterity.'  It  was  this  that 
obtained  to  ancient  Enoch  the  most  singular  testimony 
of  honour  from  heaven. 

5.  lie  continued  to  "  walk  with  God,"  when  the  world 
apostatized^  from  him.  IJe  pleased  God,  a  ^d  was  belov- 
ed of  him  ;  so  that  living  among  simiers,  he  was  transla 
ted^  to  heaven  without  seeing  death  ;  "  Yea,  speedily  was 
he  taken  away,  lest  wickedness  should  have  altered  his 
understanding,  or  deceit  beguiled  his  soul.'- 

6.  When  Sodom  could  not  furnish  ten  righteous  men 
to  save  it,  Lot  remained  unspotted  amidst  the  contagion 
lie  lived  like  an  angel  among  spirits  of  darkness  ;  an?i  the 
destroying  llame  was  not  permitted  to  go  forth,  till  the 
cood  man  was  called  away,  by  a  heavenly  messenger, 
from  his  devoted  citv. 

7.  When  "all  llesh  had  corrupted  their  way  upon  the 
earth,"  then  lived  Noah,  a  righteous  man,  and  a  preacher 
of  righteousness.  He  stood  alone  and  was  scolled  at  by 
the  profane  crew,  liut  they  by  the  deluge  were  swept 
away :  while  on  him,  Proviuence  conferred  the  immortal 
honour  of  being  the  restorer  of  a  better  race,  and  the  fa- 
ther of  a  new  world.  Such  examples  as  these,  and  such 
honours  conferred  by  God  on  tlum  who  withstood  the 
multitude  of  evil  doers,  should  often  be  present  to  our 
minds. 

8.  Let  us  oppose  them  to  the  numbers  of  low  and  cor- 
rupt examples,  which  we  behold  around  us ;  and  when 
we  are  in  hazard  of  being  swayed  by  such,  let  us  fortify 
our  virtue,  by  thinking  of  those  who,  in  former  times, 
shone  like  stars  in  the  midst  of  surrounding  darkness,  and 
are  now  shining  in  the  kingdom  of  heavfen^  as  the  bright- 
ness of  the  firmament,'"  for  ever  and  ever.  blair. 


SECTION  X 

(i  In-dolge,  ln-dilje',lo   favour,  grati- 
fy 
■  i  Pre-dom-h-nant.  pri-d&m'-4*D4nt,  pre- 
M        valeat,  over  rulio^^ 


I «  iloi-ti-fl-ea'tioD,  mdr-t^fi-k&'-eh&u,^      hot 


a  gangrene,  vcjatr'A 
d  Di6-uii'trou0,  dlz&s'-u&s,  unlock  jf,  oft- 

iamitoufi 
•  ^-«-crate,  2k'<c^krite,  to  cun^  tJb 


76  ExVOLisii  Readee.  Part  U 

Tkt  mortijications  of  vice  greater  than  those  of  virtue. 

1.  Though  no  condition  of  human  life  is  free  from  un- 
easiness, yet  it  must  be  allowed,  that  the  uneasiness  be- 
longing to  a  sinful  course,  is  far  greater,  than  what  attends 
a  course  of  well-doing,  if  we  are  weary  of  the  labours 
of  virtue  we  may  be  assured,  that  the  world,  whenever 
we  try  the  exchange,  will  lay  upon  us  a  much  heavier 
load. 

2  It  is  the  outside  only,  of  a  licentious  life,  which  is 
gay  and  smiling.  Within,  it  conceals  toil,  and  trouble, 
and  deadly  sorrow.  For  vice  poisons  human  happiness 
in  the  spring,  by  introducing  disorder  into  the  neart. 
Those  passions  which  it  seems  to  indulge,"  it  only  feeds 
with  imperfect  gratifications,  and  thereby  strengthens  them 
for  preying,  in  the  end,  on  their  unhappy  victims. 

S.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  imagine,  that  the  pain  of 
self-denial  is  confined  to  virtue.  He  who  follows  the 
world,  as  much  as  he  who  follows  Christ,  must  **  take  up 
his  cross  ;"  and  to  him  assuredly,  it  will  prove  a  more  op- 
pressive burden.  Vice  allows  all  our  passions  to  ran^e 
uncontrolled;  and  where  each  claims  to  be  superior,  it  is 
impossible  to  gratify  all.  The  predominant''  desire  can 
only  be  indulged  at  the  expense  of  its  rival. 

4.  No  mortifications*"  which  virtue  exacts,  are  more  se- 
Tere  than  those,  which  ambition  imposes  upon  the  lore 
of  ease,  pride  upon  interest,  and  covetousness  upon  van- 
ity. Self-denial,  therefore,  belongs,  in  common,  to  vice 
and  virtue ;  but  with  this  remarkable  difference,  that  the 
passions  which  virtue  requires  us  to  mortify,  it  tends  to 
weaken  ;  whereas,  those  which  vice  obliges  us  to  deny,  it, 
at  the  same  time,  strengthens.  The  one  diminishes  the 
pain  of  self-denial,  by  moderating  the  demand  of  passion  ; 
the  other  increases  it  jy  rendering  those  demands  impe- 
rious and  violent. 

5.  What  distressej  that  occur  in  the  calm  life  of  virtue, 
can  be  compared  ao  those  tortures,  which  remorse  of 
conscience  inflicts  oa  the  wicked  ;  to  those  severe  humil- 
iations, arising  from  guilt  combined  with  misfortunes, 
which  sink  them  t*  the  dust ;  to  those  violent  agitations 
of  shame  and  dis^^ippointment,  which  sometimes  drive 
them  to  the  most  fatal  extremities,  and  make  them  ab- 
hor their  existence !  How  often,  in  the  midst  of  thos« 
disastrous*' situations, into  which  tlieir  crimes  have  brought 
thezn,  have  they  execrated^  the  seductions  of  vice;  ind 


Chap*   a.  Dl&ACTlC    iPlECSSI-       ^  IT 

with  bitter  regret,  looked  back  to  the  day  on  which  they 
Irst  forsook  the  path  of  innocence  !  blaul 


€  Al-cby-mist,   il'-ki-mtfet,    one     win 

professes  tlie  Bcieiicc  of  nlciiymy 
h  Batt-ifih,  b&n'-iiUh^  to  drive  away,  ti 

exile 
e  Ex-tin  giiish,  SK-et*ng'-gw!gh,  to   put 

oat,  destroy 
d  In-or-di  naie, In-dr'-di-nite,  irrc2u!ar 

odd. 


SECTION  XI. 

c  Con-dole,  k6n-dile',  to  lament  wicJi 
/  Ac-(]ui-esce,   ik-kw4-fig',  to  Tomtin 

.'•Ktiallcil 

flr  Out-vie,  dut-vl',  to  exceed,  uurpjiiw 
k  C(Mt)-pli-cu-tiou,  k6ni-|!l«;  ki'  t>l)Ciii,  a 
mixture 
Es-sHv,   58-«i.',  attempt,  trial,  to  *i 

le.i'ilit 


On  Contentment. 

1.  CoNTENTMKNT  produccs,  in  some  measure,  all  thofl« 
cffiicts  which  the  alciiyr^iist"  usnally  astrihcs  to  what  he 
calls  thit  nliilosoph*  r's  btunc  ;  nv.d  if  it  docs  not  hrinj: 
riches,  it  does  the  same  thin,^,  hy  hanishing-  liic  (Jesire  o? 
them.  If  it  cannot  remove  ihe  disfiuietudes  arisihg  from 
a  man's  mind,  body,  or  fortune,  it  makes  him  easy  under 
them.  Jt  has  indeed  a  kindly  iiilhunee  on  the  soul  of 
man,  in  respect  of  every  heinj^  to  wiium  lie  stands  rela- 
ted. 

2.  It  extinguishes-^  all  murmur,  repinin*^,  and  inj^rati- . 
tude,  towards  that  heing;  \Nhohas  allotted  liiui  his  part  to 
act  in  this  \^^)r!d.  It  destroys  all  inordinjite'^  amhilioiit 
and  every  tendency  to  corruption,  witii  rej^rard  to  the  com- 
munity wherein  he  is  placed.  It  gives  sweetness  to  bit 
conversation,  and  a  perpetual  serenity  to  ail  liis  thoughts. 

3.  Amon;;  the  many  methods  which  mit^ht  he  made 
use  of  for  ae<^uinnoj  this  virtue,  I  shall  mention  only  the 
two  following.  First  of  all,  a  man  should  always  consid- 
er  how  much  ho  has  more  than  he  wants  ;  and,  secondly, 
how  much  more  unhappy  he  mij^ht  he  than  he  really  is. 

4.  First,  a  mr.n  should  always  consider  how  much  ho 
has  m.«»re  th.m  he  wants.  I  am  wonderfuJly  pleased  with 
the  vvp]y  which  Aristippus  made  to  one,  who  condoled* 
with  hi?n  u;:.on  the  loss  of  a  farm  :  "Why,"  said  he,  **  I 
have  throe  farms  still,  aivl  you  have  hutonc  ;  so  that  1 
ought  ;aiher  to  be  atliicted  (or  you,  than  you  for  me.*' 

.').  On  the  contrary,  foolish  men  are  more  apt  to  con- 
«idei,  what  they  have  lost,  than  what  tiiey  poss^iss  ;  and 
to  fix  their  eyes  upon  those  who  are  richer  than  thenj- 
«elves,  rather  than  on  those  w  ho  are  under  greater  diffi- 
culties. All  the  real  pleasures  and  conveniencies  of  life 
lift  io  ;i  narrow  compass  ;  hut  it  h  the  humour  of  mav^ 
G  « 


f8  ^mtMH^iSU  RsADKR.  Port  1. 


kind  to  be  ftl^^^^rnHH^ng  forward  :  and  straining  after 
one  who  has  ?;'H*1^HH8%  of  them  in  wealth  ;>nd  honour. 

6.  For  this  reasTniSr S  none  can  be  properly  railed  rich, 
who  have  not  more  tlian  they  want,  there  are  few  rich 
inen  in  any  of  the  politer  nations,  but  amon^  the  mid 
die  sort  of  people,  who  keep  their  wishes  within  theii 
fortunes,  and  have  more  wealth  than  they  know  how  to 
enjoy. 

7.  Persons  of  a  higher  rank  live  in  a  kind  of  splendid 
})overty  ;  and  are  perpetually  wanting,  because,  instead 
of  acquiescing/ in  the  solid  pleasures  oflife,  they  endeav- 
our to  outvie"  one  another  m  shadows  and  appearanc<^s. 
Men  of  sense  have  at  all  times  beheld,  with  a  great  deal 
of  mirth,  this  silly  game  tliat  is  playiog  over  their  heads  ; 
and,  by  contracting;  their  desires,  tney  enjoy  all  that  se- 
cret satisfaction  which  others  are  always  in  cpiest  of, 

8.  The  truth  is,  this  ridiculous  chase  after  imaginary 
pleasures,  cannot  he  sufHciently  exposed,  as  it  is  the  great 
source  of  those  evils  which  generally  undo  a  nation.  Let 
a  man's  estate  he  what  it  may,  he  is  a  poor  man,  if  he 
does  not  live  within  it ;  and  naturally  set'^  himself  to  sale 
to  any  one  that  can  give  him  his  price. 

9.  When  J*ittacus,  after  the  death  of  his  brother,  who 
had  le'ft  him  a  good  estate,  v/as  otlered  a  great  sum  of 
money  by  the  king  of  Lydia,  he  thanked  him  for  his  kind- 
ness ;  but  told  him,  he  had  already  more  by  half  than  he 
knew  what  to  do  with.  In  short,  content  is  equivalent  to 
wealth,  and  luxury  to  poverty;  or  to  give  the  thought 
a  more  agreeable  turn,  "  Content  is  natural  wealtfi," 
Fays  Socrates ;  to  which  1   shall   add,  luxury  is  artificial 

'poverty. 

10.  I  shall  therefore  recommend  to  the  consideration  of 
those,  who  are  always  aiming  at  superliuous  and  imagi- 
nary enjoyments,  and  who  will  not  be  at  the  troubhi  of 
contracting  their  desires,  an  excellent  saying  of  Jiion  the 

f-ihilosopher,  namely,  "  That  no  man  has  so  much  care,  a9 
le  who  endeavours  after  the  most  happiness." 

11.  In  the  second  place,  every  one  ought  to  reflect  how 
■much  more  unhappy  he  might  be,  than  he  really  is.     The 

'former  consideration  took  in  all  those  who  are  sufficient- 
ly jvrovided  with  the  means  to  make  themselves  easy; 
tTif?  regards  siuh  as  actually  lie  under  some  pressure  or 
misfortune.  These  may  receive  great  alleviation,  from 
such  a  comparison  as  the  unhappy  person  may  make  be- 
tween  himself  and   others  y  04-  LU.wet*n  the   misfortune 


%lh€ip..S.  Didactic  ^     ^^^^^^H[         T9 


which  he  suffers  and  greater  mi»foTVV|HIHp  idi(jM  - 
have  befallen  him.  nfm^ 

12.  1  like  the  story  of  the  honest  Dutchman,  who,  up- 
on breaking  his  leg  by  a  fall  from  the  main-mast,  told  tns 
standers  by,  it  was  a  great  mercy  that  it  was  not  his  neck* 
To  which,  sitice  1  am  got  into  quotations,  give  me  leave 
1 9  add  the  saying  of  an  old  philosopher,  who,  after  hav- 
ing invited  some  of  his  friends  to  dine  with  him,  was  ruf- 
fled by  a  person  that  came  into  the  room  in  a  passion, 
and  threw*  down  the  table  that  stood  before  them  :  **  Ev- 
ery on,"  says  he,  "  has  his  calamity  ;  and  he  is  a  hap- 
py man  that  has  no  greater  than  this. 

IS.  Wv.  find  an  instance  to  the  same  purpose,  in  tha 
life  of  doctor  Hammond,  written  by  bishop  Fell.  A«' 
this  good  man  was  troubled  with  a  complication^  of  dis*- 
tempers,  when  he  had  the  gout  upon  turn,  he  used  to 
thank  God  that  it  was  not  the  stone ;  and  when  he  had 
the  stone,  that  he  had  not  both  these  distempers  on  him 
at  the  same  time.       '  ^ 

14.  J  cannot  conclude  this  essay  without  observing,  tha 
there  never  was  any  system  besi'des  that  of  Christianitjt 
which  could  effectually  produce  in  the  mind  of  man  Xh 
virtue  1  have  been  hitherto  speaking  of.  In  order  to 
make  us  contented  with  our  condition,  many  of  the  pre- 
gent  philosophers,  tell  us,  that  our  discontent  only  hurts 
ourselves,  without  being  able  to  make  any  alteration  in 
our  circumstances  ;  others,  that  whatever  evils  befalls  us 
is  derived  to  us  by  a  fatal  necessity,  to  which  superior 
beings  themselves  are  subject ;  while  others,  very  gravely, 
lell  the  man  who  is  miserable,  that  it  is  necessary  that 
he  should  be  5o,  to  keep  up  the  harmony  of  the  universe; 
and  that  the  scheme  of  Providence  would  be  troubled 
and  perverted  were  he  otherwise. 

15.  These,  and  the  like  considerations,  rather  silence 
than  satisfy  man.  The)'  may  show  him  that  his  discon 
tent  is  unreasonable,  but  they  are  by  no  means  sufficient 
to  relieve  it.  They  rather  g;ive  despair  than  consolation. 
In  a  word,  a  man  might  reply  to  one  of  these  comforters, 
as  Augustus  did  to  his  friend,  who  advised  him  not  to 
grieve  for  the  death  of  a  person  whom  he  loved,  because 
his  grief  could  not  fetch  him  again  :  *'  It  is  for  that  very 
reason,"  said  the  emperor,  '*  that  1  grieve." 

IG.  On  the  contrary,  religion  bears  a  more  tender  re* 
gard  to  human  nature.  It  prescribes  to  every  miserab^ 
xnaa  the  meanp^».''   bettering  his  condition  •  nay,  U  show. 


lily  eH^n  the   remt 


J 

l4«Xf  C^^^^^Hfms  afflictions  as  he  ought  to  do^  will 
naturally  eH^n  the  removal  of  them.  It  makes  him 
ea»y  here,  because  it  can  make  him  happy  hereafter. 


SECTION  XII. 

«  Ma-I»-nt-ty,  m4-I1g'-ni-ti,  malice,  ill-  to  the  hons* 

wHT  e  Ret-i-nue,  ret'-^-ni,  a  train  of  attwj 

i  Em-b.-ir-raBs-ment,  4m-b4r'-ris-m&nt,         dants 

perplexity  /  Ti-tle,  ti'-tl,  imme,  claim  of  right 

t  List-leB«-neK8,  l!»t'-lJs-n?s,  inattention^  Op-u-Ient,  6p'-piIi-l^iU,  rich,  weailhy 
d  D»»-mes-lick,  dA-mSs'-Uk,    belonging' 

Rank  and  riches  afford  no  ground  for  envy. 

1.  Of  all  the  grounds  of  envy  among  men,  superiority 
in  rank  and  fortune  is  the  most  general.  Hence,  the  ma- 
lignity* which  the  poor  commonly  bear  to  the  rich,  as 
engrossing  to  themselves  all  the  comforts  of  life.— < 
Hence,  the  eyil  eye  with  which  persons  of  infeiior  sta-' 
lion  scrutinize  those  who  are  above  them  in  rank  ;  and 
if  they  approach  to  that  rank,  their  envy  is  generally 
strongest  against  such  as  are  just  one  step  higher  than 
themselves. 

2.  Alas  !  my  friends,  all  this  envious  disquietude,  which 
agitates  the  world,  arises  from  a  deceitful  figure  which 
imposes  on  the  public  view.  False  colours  are  hung  out : 
the  real  state  of  men  is  not  what  it  seems  to  be.  The 
order  of  society  requires  a  distinction  of  ranks  to  take 
place :  but  in  point  of  happiness,  all  men  come  much 
nearer  to  equality  than  is  commonly  imagined  ;  and  the 
circumstances,  which  form  any  material  difference  of 
happiness  among  them,  are  not  of  that  nature  which  reiy 
ders  them  grounds  of  envy. 

3.  T!ie  poor  man  po&sesses  not^  it  is  true,  some  of  the 
conveniences  and  pleasures  of  the  rich  ;  but,  in  return,  he 
is  free  from  many  embarrassments''  to  which  they  are 
subject.  ]^y  the  simplicity  and  uniformity  of  his  liui,  he 
IS  tielivered  from  that  vaViety  of  cares,  which  perplex 
those  who  have  great  affairs  to  manage,  intricate  plans  to 
pursue,  many  enemies,  perhaps,  to  encounter  in  the  pur- 
•uit. 

4.  In  the  tranquillity  of  his  small  habitation,  and  pri- 
vate family,  he  enjoys  a  peace  which  is  often  unknown  at 
courts.  The  gratifications  of  nature,  which  are  always 
th9  mottft  9»tift»otory,  are  possessed  b^  him  to  their  fuU 


Chap.    5.  iTlDACTIC    I*IKCF.t.      ^  II 

Gxtcnt  ;  nnd  If  he  be  a  Rtranger  to  the  rtiftned  pleamret 
of  the  wealthy,  he  is  unaccjuaiuted  also  with  a  desire  of 
tiiem,  and  by  conse(juence,  i'etils  no  want.  His  plain 
meal  satisfn's'  his  appetite,  witli  a  relish  probably  higher 
han  that  of  the  rich  man,  who  sits  down  to  his  luxuri- 
ous banquety     ^^ 

5.  His  sleep  is  more  sonnd  ;  his  health  more  firm;  he 
knojv^^iS^ii<it  spleen,  languor,  and  iistlessiir'ss*^  arc. 
His  aPc|H5HB^e!nj)loym»uits  or  lal)ours  are  not  more 
opprf'Ssive^WBLjn,  than  tlie  labour  of  attendance  on 
courts  and  t!in7J^||^t,  the  labmirs  of  dress,  the  fatijjue  of 
amusementsJlhe  very  weij^lS'of  idleness,  frequently  arc 
to  the  rich.,.«^ 

6.  in  the  mean  time,  all  the  l^anty  of  the  face  of  na« 
ture,  all  the  enjoyments  of  domestic'' society,  all  the  gai- 
ety and  clu'erlulness  of  an  easy  mind,  are  as  0})en  tonini 
as  to  those  of  the  highest  rank/  The^splendour  of  retinue,* 
the  sound  of  titles,/  the  appearance^  of  high  respect,  are 
indeed  soothing,  for  a  short  time,  to  the  great,  liut,  be 
come  familiar,  they  are  soon  h)rgotten.  Custom  effaces 
their  im})ression.  Tliey  sink  into  the  Fank  of  those  or- 
dinary things,  which  daily  recur,  without  raising  any  sen- 
uation  of  joy. 

7.  Let  us  cease,  therefore,  from  looking  up  with  dis- 
content and  envy  to  those,  whom  birth  or  lortune  has 
placed  above  us.  Let  us  adjust  the  balance  of  happiness 
lairly.  \\  hen  we  think  of  the  enjoyments  we  want,  we 
should  think  also  of  the  trouhh^s  from  which  w^e  are  free, 
if  we  allow  their  just  value  to  the  comforts  we  possess, 
we  shall  fiiul  reason  to  rest  satisfied,  with  a  very  mode- 
rate, though  not  an  opulent>'  and  splendid,  condition  of 
fortune.  OCten,  did  we  know  the  w  hole,  we  should  be 
inclined  to  |»ity  the  state  of  those  whom  we  now  envy. 

BLAIR. 


SECTION  xm. 


•  U-ni-for-mi-ty,         yi-ni-fdi'-mi-i*, 

»Rmcii©»i,    fesem  bianco   to   itself, 

even  t»inour 
h  Lev-i-ty,  Idv'-vi-t^,   lightness,  incon- 

■tancy 
t  In-io-lent,  In'-sA-lSnt,  iiaughty,  over 

bearing 
d  Spouse,  rpd&ze,  one  joined  in  mar 

riare 

#  Tfir-^u-Ienea.    t&r'-b{i-<l4i)M     turaalt, 


violence 
/  Ex-rlaim,   iks-klime',    to    cry    ttut 

with  veli«nience 
rr  Giddy,  g!d'-ci*,  whirling,   unitoadf, 

haedie£ti 
k  E-fjua  uim-i-ty,   i-kMrl-iiIm'-A-ti,  •^ 

venncsi  of  mind 
X  Mag-ni-fy,  m&(;'-ni-f  1«  to  m&ke  Sr«l% 

extol 


i  ' 

Patience  under  provocations  our  interest  as  tcttt  as  duty. 
.  1.  Thk  wide  circle  of  huniim  society  is  diversified  by 
^n  endless  variety  -of  cliaracters,  dis])Ositions,  find  passions. 
Uniformity"  is,  in  no  respect,  the  genius  of  the  world. — 
Every  man  is  niarkeri  by  some  peculiarity  which  distin- 
j;iiishes  him  from  another  :  and  no  wliere  can  two  indi- 
viduals be  found,  who  are  exactly  and  in  ail  respects  alike. 
Where  so  much  diversity  obtains,  it  cannot  but  iiap{)en, 
that  in  the  intercourse  wiiich  men  are  obliged  to  main- 
tain, their  tempers  will  often  he  ill  adjuste4l4o  that  inter- 
course ;  will  jar,  and  interfere  with  eijclv  otlier. 

S.  Hence,  in  every  station,  the  hij^hest  as  well  as  the 
lowest,  and  in  every  condition  of  life,  public,  private,  and 
domestic,  occasions  of  irritation  fi-equently  arise.  We 
are  provoked,  sometimes,  by  the  folly  and  levity''  of  those 
with  whom  we  are  connecled  :  sometimes,  by  their  in- 
difference or  neglect;  by  the  incivility  of  a  friend,  the 
hauj^htiness  of  a  superior,*  or  the  insolent"  behaviour  of 
one  in  lower  station. 

5. 'Hardly  a  day  passes,  without  somewhat  or  other 
occurrinj!;,  which  serves  to  rfUflle  the- man  of  impatient 
spirit.  Of  course,  such  a  man  lives  in  a  continual  storm. 
iie  knows  not  what  it  is  to  enjoy  a  train  of  j^ood  humour. 
Servants,  neij^hbours,  friends,'  spouse, '^  and  children,  all, 
through  the  unrestrained  violence  of  his  temper,  become 
sources  of  disturbance  and  vexation  to  him.  In  vain  is 
Jiflluence  ;  in  vain  are  health  and  prosperity.  The  least 
trifle  is  sufficient  to  discompose  his  mind,  and  poison  his 
pleasures.  His  very  amusements  are  mixed  with  turb'j 
lence«  and  passion. 

4.  1  would  beseech  this  man  to  consider,  of  what  small 
moment  the  provocationf?  Avhich  he  receives,  or  at  least 
imagines  himself  to  receive,  are  really  in  themselves  ;  but 
of  what  great  moment  he  makes  them,  by  suffering  them 
to  deprive  him  of  the  possession  of  himself.  I  w-ould  be- 
seech him,  to  consider,  how  many  hours  of  happiness  he 
throws  away,  which  a  little  more  patience  would  a'.low 
him  to  enjoy  :  and  how  much  he  puts  it  in  th(;  |)ower  of 
the  most  msignificant  persons  to  render  him  miserable. 

5.  "  But  who  can  expect,"  we  hear  him  exclaim,/ 
"  that  he  is  to  possess  the  insensibility  of  a  stone?  How 
is  it  possibld  for  human  nature  to  endure  so  many  repeat- 
ed provocations  1  or  to  bear  calmly  with  so  unreasonable 
behaviour  V  My  brother  I  if  tiiou  canst  bear  with  no  itt- 


€hap'  ft  Didactic     ixcss>.  t4 . 

«tftuce«  of  unreasonable  behaviour,  T^ithdraw  thjsei/ fro^jj 
"Oit  world.  Thou  art  no  longer  fit  to  live  in  it.  LeatA 
the  intercourse  of  men.  Retreat  to  the  mountain,  and 
the  desert ;  or  shut  thyself  up  in  a  cell.  For  here^  in  \J^ 
ttiidst  of  society,  offences  mmt  cnmc. 

6.  We  might  as  well  expect  when  v/e  behold  a  calm  al(*> 
mospliere,  and  a  clear  sky,  that  no  clouds  were  ever  to 
rise,  and  no  winds  to  blow,  as  that  our  life  were  long  to 
proceed  without  receiving  provocations  from  human  frail- 
ty.  The  careless  and  the  imprudent,  the  ^iddy^  and  the 
fickle,  the  ungrateful  and  the  interested,  every  where  meet 
us.  They  are  the  briers  and  thorns,  with  which  the  paths 
of  human  life  are  beset.  iJe  only,  who  can  hold  hia 
course  among  them  with  patience  and  equanimity,*  hv 
"who  is  prepared  to  bear  what  he  must  expect  to  happen, 
is  worthy  of  the  name  of  a  man. 

7.  If  we  preserved  ourselves  composed  but  for  a  mo- 
ment, we  should  perceive  the  insignificancy  of  most  of 
thos-e  provocations  which  we  magnify  so  highly.  When 
a  few'suns  more  have  rolled  over  our  heads,  'the  storm 
will,  of  itself,  have  subsided  ;  the  cause  of  our  present 
impatience  and  disturbance  will  be  utterly  forgotten.— 
Can  we  not  then,  anticipate  this  hour  of  cahnness  to  our- 
selves ;  and  begin  to  enjoy  the  peace  which  it  will  cer- 
tainly bring  ? 

8.  It^  others  have  behaved  improperly,  let  us  leave  them 
to  their  own  folly,  without  becommg  the  victim  of  their 
caprice,  and  punishing  ourselves  on  their  account.  Pa- 
tience, in  this  exercise  of  it,  cannot  be  too  much  studied 
by  all  who  wish  their  life  to  flow  in  a  smooth  stream.  It 
is  the  reason  of  a  man,  in  opposition  to  the  passion  of  a 
child.  It  is  the  enjoyment  ol  peace,  in  opposition  to  up- 
roar and  confusion*.  blair. 


SECTION  XIV. 

c  Sphere,  sfJre,  a  globe,  orb,  circuit 

i  Prim-i-tivo,  pr!m'-^-v!v,   ancient,  for- 
mal 

e  Am-bit-ion,  im-blsh'-fin,  tho  desire  of 
preferment 

d  Ul-ti  mate,  il'-t^-mit,  the  very  last,  .'. 
final 

«  En-groB8,  en-grise',  to  purchase  the 

Moderation  in  our  tcishes  recommended. 
1.  The  active  mind  of  man  seldom  or  never  rests  so^ 
isfied  with  its  present  condition,  how  frowf^ervisa  sowr^f-  .. 


whole    of  any  commodity,  fbr  the 

sake  of  tielling  at  a  high  price 
/  Pre-cip-i-tate,  pr^-klp'-p^-tiite,  to  hh*- 

ten,  hurry  rashly 
/r  Fal-la-cious,  fAi-li'-thfi»,  deccittitl 
h  Wo,  w6,  grief,  (sorrow,  misery 
'  Per-nic-joui,    pkr-nlah'-tt^    de«tni9> 

live 


•4  Knglish  Header.  Fart  1. 

Or^iminy  formed  for  a  wider  rari^c  of  objects,  for 
lligher  sphere*  of  enjoyments,  it  hnds  itself,  in  every 
situation  of  fortune,  strained  and  contined.  Sensible  of 
deSciency  in  its  state,  it  is  evor  sendinj^  forth  tlie  fond 
desire,  the  aspiring  wish,  after  sometiiini;  beyond  what  is 
enjoyed  at  present. 

k.  Hence  that  restlessness  which  prevails  so  generally 
among  mankind.  Hence,  that  disgust  of  pleasures  whict 
they  have  tried  ;  that  passion  for  novelty  ;  that  ambition 
of  rising  to  some  degree  of  eminence  or  fehcity,  of  which 
they  have  formed  to  themselves  an  indistinct  idea.  All 
which  may  be  considered  as  indications  of  a  certain  na- 
tive, original  greatness  in  the  human  soul,  swelling  beyond 
the  limits  of  its  present  condition  ;  and  pointing  to  the 
higher  objects  for  which  it  was  made.  Happy,  if  these 
latent  remains  of  our  primitive^  state,  served  to  direct 
our  wishes  towards  their  proper  destination,  and  to  lead 
us  into  the  path  of  true  bliss. 

3.  But  in  this  dark  and  bewildered  state,  the  aspiring 
tendency  of  our  nature  unfortunately  takes  an  opposite 
direction,  and  feeds  a  very  misplaced  ambition.'^  The 
flattering  appearances  Avhich  here  present  themselves  to 
«ense ;  the  distinctions  which  fortune  confers ;  the  ad- 
vantages and  pleasures  which  we  imagine  the  world  to 
be  capable  ot  bestowing,  fill  up  the  ultimate''  wish  of 
most  men. 

4.  These  are  the  objects  which  engross*  their  solitary 
musings,  and  stimulate  their  active  labours  ;  which  warm 
the  breasts  of  the  young,  animate  the  industry  of  th(i 
middle  aged,  and  often  keep  alive  the  passions  oi  the  old, 
until  the  very  close  of  life. 

5.  Assuredly,  there  is  nothing  unlawful  in  our  wishing 
to  he  freed  from  whatever  is  disagreeable,  and  to  obtaii; 
a  fuller  enjoyment  of  the  comforts  of  life.  But  wher. 
these  wishes  are  not  tempered  by  reason,  they  are  in 
danger  of  precipitating/  us  into  much  extravagance  ant. 
folly.  Desires  and  wishes  are  the  first  springs  of  action. 
When  they  become  exorbitant,  the  wiiole  character  is 
likely  to  be  tainted. 

6.  If  we  suffer  our  fancy  to  create  to  itself  worlds  of 
ideal  happiness,  we  shall  discompose  the  peace  and  or- 
der of  our  minds,  and  foment  many  hurtful  passionr. 
Here,  then,  let  moderation  begin  its  reign ;  by  bringing 
within  reasonable  bounds  the  wishes  that  we  form.  As 
•oon  as  they  become  extravagant,  Je   us  check  the»a,  bj 


Chnp.  %.  DiDACTir:  PtECES.  91 

proper  rr/!ectlnna  on  the  raUacious/  nature  of  those  ob- 
j»  CIS,  which  the  workl  iianji;»  out  to  allure  dcjirt*. 

7.  You  havf.  strayed,  my  friends,  from  the  road  which 
ronducts  to  felicity  ;  you  have  dishonoured  the  nativo 
di;;nily  of  your  souls,  in  allowing  your  wishes  to  termin- 
er e  on  nothing  hi;^her  than  worldly  ideas  of  j!;reatness  or 
liappiness.  \  our  imagination  roves  in  a  land  of  shadows. 
Lnri!al  forms  deceive  you.  It  is  no  more  than  a  phan- 
tom, an  illusion  of  happiness,  whicii  attracts  your  fond 
admiration  ;  nay,  an  illusion  of  happiness,  which  often 
conceals  mu£h  real  misery. 

o.  Do  you  imagine  that  ail  are  happy,  who  have  attain- 
ed to  those  sununits  of  distinction,  towards  which  your 
wishes  aspire  /  Alas !  how  freciuenlly  has  experience 
filiuwn,  that  where  roses  were  sup]K>sed  to  bloom,  nothing 
but  briers  and  thorns  grew!  Reputation,  beauty,  riches, 
grandeur,  nay,  royalty  itself,  Avould,  many  a  lime,  have 
been  gladly  exchanged  by  the  possessors,' for  that  m»r« 
quiet  and  humble  station,  with  which  you  are  now  dis- 
satisfied. 

9.  With  all  that  is  splendid  and  shining  in  the  world, 
it  is  decreed  that  there  should  mix  many  deep  shades  of 
wo.^  On  the  elevated  situations  of  fortune,  the  great  ca- 
lamities of  life  chiefly  fall.  There,  the  storm  spends  its 
violence,  and  there  the  thunder  breaks  ;  while  safe  and 
unhurt,  the  inhabitants  of  the  vale  remain  below  ; — lie- 
treat,  then,  from  those  vain  and  pernicious*  excursions  of 
extravagant  desire. 

10.  batisfy  yourselves  with  what  is  rational  and  attain- 
Able.  Train  your  minds  to  moderate  views  of  human 
life,  and  human  happiness.  Remember,  and  admire,  the 
wisdom  of  Agur's  petition  :  **  Remove  far  from  me  van- 
ity and  lies.  Give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches.  Feed 
me  with  food  convenient  for  me :  lest  I  be  fijl  and  deny 
thee  ;  and  say,  who  is  the  Lord?  or  lest  1  be  poor,  and 
steal ;  and  take  the  name  of  my  God  ia  vain."     blair. 


SECTION  XV. 


•  Plan-ct,  plln'-lt,  a  body   tliat  moves 
'.         round  the  bum 

I*  E-ther,  4'-thir,  an  element  finer  tlian 
I        air 

|«  Lumi-na-ry,  J6'-mA-n4-r4,    a    body 
I         that  givM  lijrht 
14  Gal-81-y,  f4I'-lik-«*,  the  roilky  way 


e  Maj-es-ty,  mW-jin-ti,  dignity,  royti 

ttiie 
/  Mil-ton,  nifl'-t'n,  a  celebrated  Po«t 
/  Con-stel-la-tion.  k4ii-sUil-14'-«h6a,  a 

cluster  (»f  fixed  Biars 
h  Or-dain,  6r-dine',  to  appoint,  d«ei«* 
i  In-fi-i>it«>,Iii'-fA-ntt,uabouiided,«iidlM 


H 


Knalxbh  Kxa^%&« 


Pai^i^ 


j  An-trf4ii-late,  An-nr-M-lite,  to  reduce 

to  nothing,  (Jestroy 
k  Chasm,  kizm,*a  cleft,  gap^  vacuity 
I  Tel-e-8cope,  t21'-I6-sk6pe,  a  g.asa  to 

Tiew  distant  objects 
m  Hny-ge-ni-us,  ht-j^'-n^-Ba, 
n  Stint,  sttnt,  to  bound,  restrain,  limit 
•  Suc-cour,  Ei'ik'-kftr,  to  help,  relieve 

aid,  assistance,  help  in  distrcjis 
p  Om-ni!?-ci  out,     6rn-nish'-6-ent,    infi- 
nitely wise 


q  Im-men-rf-ty,  Im-nido'-oA-tA,  tmbowt^ 

ded  greatnesa 
r  Van-ish,  v4n'-!3h,to  disappear,  be  lost 
s  Re-gard,  r6-gird',  to  yaiua,  observe^ 

respect,  reverence 
t  Oc-ca-sion,  6k-kA'-zhfin,  to  cause,  & 

cause 
u  Con-fi-dent,  k6n'-r4-d5nt,-  a    boiom 

friend,  positive,  bold 
V  Mcr-cy,  mSr'-s^,  tenderness,  clenaen 

cy 


Omniscience  and  omnipresence  of  the  Deity,  the  source  oj 
consolation  to  good  men. 

1.  I  was  j^esterday,  about  sun  set,  walking  in  the  open 
fields,  till  the  night  insensibljr  fell  upon  me.  I  at  nrst 
amused  myself  with  all  the  richness  and  variety  of  co- 
lours, which  appeared  in  the  western  parts  of  heaven.  In 
proportion  as  they  faded  away  and  went  out,  several  stars 
and  planets"  appeared  one  after  another,  till  the  whole  fir- 
m'ament  was  in  a  glow.  The  blueness  of  the  ether*  was 
exceedingly  heightened  and  enlivened,  by  the  season  of 
the  year,  and  the  rays  of  all  those  luminaries*^  that  passed 
through  it. 

2.  The  galaxy^  appeared  in  its  most  beautiful  white. 
To  complete  the  scene,  the  full  moon  rose,  at  length  in 
that  clouded  majesty,*^  which  Milton/  takes  notice  of 
and  opened  to  the  eye  a  ncAV  picture  of  nature,  which  was 
more  finely  shaded,  and  disposed  among  softer  lights  than 
that  which  the  sun  had  before  discovered  to  us. 

3.  As  I  was  surveying  the  moon  walking  in  her  bright* 
ness,  and  taking  her  progress  among  the  constellations,*'  a 
thought  arose  in  me,  which  I  believe  very  often  perplex- 
es and  disturbs  men  of  serious  and  contemplative  natures. 
David  himself  fell  into  it  in  that  reflection  ;  '*  When  1 
consider  the  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers  ;  the  moon 
and  the  stfl's  which  thou  hast  ordamed  ;^  what  is  man 
that  thou  art  mindful  of  him,  and  the  son  of  man  that 
thou  regardesthim  !" 

4.  In  the  same  manner,  when  1  consider  that  infinite* 
host  of  stars,  or  to  speak  more  philosophically,  of  suns, 
which  were  then  shinmg  upon  me  ;  with  those  innumera- 
hle  sets  of  planets  or  worlds,  which  were  moving  round 
their  respective  suns  ;  when  1  still  enlarged  the  idea,  and 
supposed  anotker  heaven  of  suns  and  worlds,  rising  still 
above  this  which  we  discovered  :  and  these  still  enlight- 
ened foy  a  superior  firmameot  of  luminaries,  which  are 


Ckap.Q^  Didactic  Vizckb  fit  -*- 

planted  at  so  great  a  distance,  that  llicy  may  appear  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  former,  aa  tiie  stars  do  to  us  :  in 
short,  -wiiile  I  pursued  this  tliouj^ht,  1  could  not  hut  reflect 
on  that  little  insij^niiicant  figure  ^vhich  I  myself  bore 
amidst  the  immensity  of  Cod  s  works. 

5.  Where  the  sun  which  enlightens  this  part  of  the 
'creation,  with  all  the  host  of  ])lanetary  worlds  that  move 
above  him,  utterly  extinguislu'd  *ana  anniliilated,.'  tliey 
would  not  be  missed,  more  than  a  grain  uf  sand  upon  th« 
sea-shore.  The  space  they  possess  is  so  exceedingly 
little  in  comparison  of  the  whole,  it  would  scarcely  make 
a  blank  in  the  cn-ation. 

6.  The  chasm^  would  be  imperceptible  to  an  eye,  that 
could  take  in  the  wiif)!e  compass  of  nature,  and  pass  from 
pne  end  of  the  creation  to  the  other;  as  it  is  possible 
there  may  be  sucii  a  sense  in  ourselves  hereafter,  or  in 
creatures  which  are  at  present  inore  exalted  than  our- 
selves. ]iy  the  help  of  glasses,  we  see  many  stars,  which 
we  do  not  discover  with  our  naked  eyes;  and  the  iincT 
©ur  telescopes' are,  the  more  still  are  our  discoveries. 

7.  lluyj^enius'"  carries  this  thought  so  far,  that  he  does 
not  think  it  impossible  there  may  be  stars,  whose  light  has 
not  yet  travelled  down  to  us,  since  their  first  creation. 
There  is  no 'question  that  the  universe  hafi  certain  bounds 
set  to  it ;  but  when  we  consider  that  it  is  the  work  of  In- 
finite Power,  promj)t.ed  by  In/iriite  Goodness,  with  an  in- 
Anate  space  to  exert  itself  in,  how  can  our  imagination  set 
any  bounds  to  it  ? 

8.  To  return,  therefore,  to  my  first  thought,  I  could 
not  but  look  upon  myself  with  secret  horror,  as  a  being 
that  was  not  worth  the  smallest  regard  of  one  who  had 
so  great  a  work  under  his  care  and  superintendency.  1 
was  afraid  of  being  overlooked  amidst  the  immensity  of 
nature;  and  lost  among  that  infinite  variety  of  creatures, 
which  in  all  probability,  swarm  through  alftlTesc  immeas- 
urable regions  of  matter. 

9.  In  order  to  recover  myself  from  this  mortifying 
thought,  I  considered  that  it  took  its  rise  from  those  nnr- 
row  conceptions,  which  we  are  apt  to  entertain  of  the  Di- 
vine  Nature.  \Ve  ourselves  cannot  attend  to  many  dif- 
ferent objects  at  the  same  time.  If  we  are  careful  to  in- 
gpect  some  things,  we  must  of  course  neglect  others. — 
This  imperfection  which  we  observe  in  ourselves,  i?  an 
imperfection  that  cleaves,  in  some  degree,  to  creatures  of 


US  English  Rbadf.r.  Port  I. 

thft  higliftsrt  capacities,  as  they  are  creatures,  that  is,  be- 
ings of  finite  and  limitefi  natures. 

10.  The  presence  of  every  created  being  is  confined  to 
a  certain  measure  of  sj)ace  ;  and  consequently  his  ubser- 
vatioB  is  stinted"  to  a  certain  nuinber  of  objects.  The 
sphere  in  which  we  move,  and  act,  and  understand,  is  of 
a  wider  circumference  to  one  creature,  than  another,  ac- 
cording as  we  rise  one  above  another  in  the  scale  of  ex- 
istence. But  the  widest  of  these  our  spheres  has  its  cir- 
cumference. 

When,  therefore,  we  reflect  on  the  Divine  Nature, 
"we  are  so  used  and  accustomed  to  this  imperfection  in 
ourselves,  that  we  cannot  forbear,  in  some  measure,  as- 
cribing it  to  HIM,  in  whom  there  is  no  shadow  of  imper- 
fection. Our  reason  indeed  assures  us,  that  his  fittri- 
hutes  are  infinite ;  but  the  poorness  of  our  conceptions  is 
such,  that  it  cannot  forbear  setting  bounds  to  everything 
it  contemplates,  till  our  reason  comes  again  to  our  suc- 
cour," ana  throws  down  all  those  kittle  prejudices^  which 
rise  in  us  unawares,  and  are  natural  to  the  mind  of  man. 

12.  We  shall  therefore  utterly  extinguish  this  melan- 
choly thouj^bt,  of  our  being  overlooked  by  our  Maker,  in 
the  multiplicity  of  his  works,  and  the  infinity  of  those 
objects  among  which  he  seems  to  be  incessantly  employ- 
ed, if  we  consider,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  is  oranipres- 
%nt ;  and  in  the  second,  that  he  is  omniscient.^ 

13.  If  we  consider  him  in  his  omnipresence,  his  being 
passes  through,  actuates,  and  supports  the  whole  frame 
ot  nature.  His  creation,  in  every  part  of  it,  is  full  of 
him.  There  is  nothing  he  has  ipade,  which  is  either  so 
distant,  so  little,  or  so  inconsiderable,  that  he  does  not  es- 
sentially reside  in  it.  His  substance  is  within  the  sub- 
stance of  every  being,  whether  material  or  immaterial, 
lind  as  intimately  present  to  it,  as  that  being  is  to  itself. 

14.  It  would  be  an  imperfection  in  him,  were  he  able 
to  move  out  of  one  place  into  another  ;  or  to  withdravv 
himself  from  any  thing  that  he  has  created,  or  from  any 
part  of  that  space  which  he  diffused  and  spread  abroad 
to  infinity.  In  short,  to  speak  of  him  in  the  language  of 
the  old  philosopher,  he  is  a  being  whose  centre  is  every 
where,  and  his  circumference  no  where. 

15.  In  the  second  place,  he  is  omniscient  as  well  as 
omnipresent.  His  omniscience,  indeed,  necessarily  and 
naturalljr  flows  from  his  omnipresence.  He  cannot  but 
b«  conscious  of  everv  motion  that  arisec  m  the  whole  ma   ' 


Chmp^  4.  AnouMsrvTATiVB  Pieces.  ii 

terial  world,  which  he  thus  essentially  pervades  ;  and  of 
every  thought  that  is  stirrinj^  in  the  intellectual  worlds  to 
every  part  of  which  he  is  thus  intimately  united. 

16.  Were  the  soul  separated  from  the  Dody^and  should 
It  with  one  glance  of  thought  start  heyond  the  hounds  o» 
the  creation;  should  it  for  millions  of  years,  continue  its 
prop^ress  through  infinite  space,  with  the  same  activity,  it 
would  still  find  itself  within  the  emhrace  of  its  Creator, 
and  encompassed  by  the  immensity^  of  the  Godhead. 

17.  In  this  consideration  of  the  Almighty*s  omnipres- 
ence and  omniscience,  every  uncomfortable  thought  van 
ishes.**  Me  cannot  but  regard*  every  thing  that  has  be- 
ing, especially  such  of  his  creatures  who  fear  they  are 
not  regarded  by  him.  He  is  privy  to  t\H  their  thoughts, 
and  to  that  anxiety  of  heart  in  particular,  which  is  apt  to 
trouble  them  on  this  occasion ;'  for,  as  it  is  impossible  he 
should  overlook  any  of  his  creatures,  so  we  may  be  con- 
fident" that  he  regards  with  an  eye  of  mercy,*  those 
who  endeavour  to  recommend  themselves  to  his  notice; 
and  in  unfeigned  humility  of  heart,  think  themselves  un» 
worthy  that  he  should  be  mindful  of  them.      adpison. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
SECTION   1. 

«  In-qtii-ry,  !a-kwi'-rl,    interrogation.!        and  Tro,  to  he  uncertain,  to  ftmyg 
i)(!urch  |e  En  i^eiicp,    ^i*'-a£nae,    cxuteDCt,  p«r 

I  Fluc-tu-ale,  fl&k'-Uhi-ite,  to  roll  to'        fume,  odour 

Happiness  is  Jbunded  in  rectitude  of  conduct, 

1.  xak  LL  men  pursue  good,  and  would  be  happy,  if 
they  knew  how  :  not  hap])y  for  minutes,  and  miserable 
for  hours;  but  hanpy,  if  possible,  through  every  part  of 
their  existence.  Either,  tnerefore,  there  is  a  good  of  this 
steady,  durable  kind,  or  there  is  not.  If  not,  then  all 
^ood  must  be  transcient  and  uncertain  ;  and  if  so,  an  ob- 
ject of  the  lowest  value,  which  can  little  deserve  our  it^ 
tention  or  inquiry.* 

£•  But  U  tnert)  be  a  better  good,  such  a  good  bj  w«  mm 
H  * 


fi^eLisa  Keamciu 


Pari  I. 


seeking  ;  like  every  other  thing,  \t  must  be  derived  from 
jSorae  cause  ;  and  that  cause  must  either  be  external,  inter- 
nal, or  mixed ;  in  as  much  as,  except  those  three,  there 
is  no  other  possible.  Now  a  steady,  durable  good,  can- 
not be  derived  from  an  external  cause :  since  all  derived 
from  externals  must  fluctuate  as  they  fluctuate.* 

S.  J5y  the  same  rule,  it  cannot  he  derived  from  a  mix- 
ture of  the  two ;  because  the  part  which  is  external,  will 
proportionahly  destroy  its  essence.*^  What  then  remains 
but  the  cause  internal  ?  the  very  cause  ^vhich  we  have 
supposed,  when  we  place  the  sovereign  good  in  mind — in 
rectitude  of  conduct.  Harris. 


SECTION  II. 


a  Ex-pan-sion,  Jks-pin'-slifln,  extent, 
pure  space 

h  Annoy,  4n-nd4',  to  incommode,  to 
vex 

c  Sub-ser-vi-ent,  Bub-sSr'-vi-gnt,  subor- 
dinate, useful 

d  De-tach,  di-t4tsh',  to  separate,  dis 
engage 

<  <Jbi-iner-i-cal,  k^-mSr'-ri-kAI,  imagi 
nary,  fnntastick 

/  Ab-sur-di-ty,  Ab-fiiV-d^-t*,  the  qual- 
ity of  being  absurd 

g  Ilerd,  hfird,  to  run  in  droves,  a  drove 


or  company 

k  Disperse,  d!3-p2rse',  to  scatter,  to  dis- 
sipate 

i  Par-tic  i-pate,  pir-lls'-si-pite,  to  par- 
take, to  have  part  of  something 
common  with  another 

;■  Ge-ni  al,  ji'-n6-4l,  natural,  native, 
contributing  to  mirth 

k  Stu-pen-doufi,  8t6-p2n'-d5s,  wonder 
ful,  ama/ing 

I  Ad-o-ration,  4d-d6-ri'-shfin,  diviae 
worship 


Virtm  and  piety  marCs  highest  interest, 

1.  I  FIND  myself  existing  upon  a  little  spot,  surrounded 
every  way  hy  an  immense  unknown  expansion." — Where 
am  1  ?  What  sort  of  a  place  do  I  inhabit?  Is  it  exact- 
ly accommodated  in  every  instance  to  my  convenience  ? 
Is  there  no  excess  of  coiu,  none  of  heat  to  oflend  me  ? 
Am  I  never  anno5'ed'^  by  animals  either  of  my  own,  or  a 
diiier  iit  kind  ?  Is  every  thing  subservient^  to  me,  as 
though  I  had  ordered  all  myself?  No-^nothing  like  it — 
—-the  farthest  from  it  possible. 

2.  The  world  appears  n<U,  then,  originally  made  for 
the  private  convenience  of  m^jdone  ? — It  does  nut.  Ikit 
is  it  not  possible  so  to  acrommodate  it,  by  my  own  par- 
ticular industry?  If  to  accommodate  man  and  beast, 
heaven  and  earth,  if  tnis  be  beyond  me,  it  is  not  possible. 
What  consequence  then  follows  ;  or  can  there  be  any  oth- 
er than  this — If  I  seek  an  interest  of  my  own  detached 
from  that  of  others,  I  seek  ah  interest  which  is  chimer- 
ical,' aiul  which  can  never  have  an  existence. 


Chap,  4.  Aroumkntative  J^iecks.  ti 

3.  How  then  must  1  determine  7  Have  1  no  interest 
,at  nil  ?  If  1  have  not,  I  am  stationed  here  to  no  purpose. 
But  why  no  interest  ?  Can  I  be  contented  with  none  but 
ione  separate  and  detached  ?  Is  a  social  interest,  joined 
with  others,  such  an  absurdity/  as  not  to  be  admitted  1 
The  bee,  the  beaver,  and  the  tribes  of  herding^-  animals, 
are  sufficient  to  convince  me,  that  the  tiling  is  somewhere 
'at  least  possible. 

4.  How,  then,  am  I  assured  that  it  is  not  equally  true 
of  mim  1  Admit  it ;  and  what  follows  ?  If  so,  then  hon- 
oiH*  and  justice  are  my  interest ;  then  the  wiiole  train  of 
moral  virtues  are  my  interest ;  without  some  portion  of 
which,  not  even  thieves  can  maintain  society. 

r>.  15ut,  farther  still — I  stop  not  here — 1  pursue  this  so- 
cial interest  as  far  as  1  can  trace  my  several  relations.  I 
jKiss  from  my  own  stock,  my  own  neighbourhood,  my 
own  nation,  to  the  whole  race  of  mankind,  as  dispersed* 
t(!ri)nghout  the  earth.  Am  I  not  related  to  them  all,  by 
tlu'  mutual  aids  of  commerce,  by  the  general  intercourse 
arts  and  letters,  by  that  common  nature  of  which  we 
particij)ate  ?' 

«i.  Agam — I  must  have  food  and  clothing.  Without  a 
proper  geniab  warmth,  I  instantly  perish.  Am  1  not  re- 
;;t('d,  in  this  view,  tothevrry  earth  itself;  'to  the  distant 
-un,  from  whose  beams  I  derive  vijrour  /  To  that  stupen- 
';Mis*  course  and  order  of  tiie  infinite  host  of  heaven,  by 
irh  the  times  and  seasons  ever  uniformly  pass  on  ? 

7.  Were  this  order  once  confoundt'd,  I  could  not  pro- 
)a!)ly  survive  a  moment;  so  absolutely  do  I  depend  on 
his  common  general  welfare.  AVhat,  then,  have  1  to  do, 
);!t  to  enlarge  virtue  into  piety  ?  Not  only  honour  and 
istice,  and  what  J  owe  to  man,  is  my  interest;  but  grat- 
tude  also,  acquiescence,  resignation,  adoration,'  and  all  I 
1'.'  e  to  this  great  polity,  and  its  great  Governour  our 
Mimmoa  Parent.  Harris. 

'  SECTION  III. 

\  Friv-o-lou»,    frIv'-A  Ifts,   slight,    tri-  /  Mer-it,  m?r'-!t,  dciert,  to  claim  riglit, 
'       flini^  io  be  entitled  to 

K  1  inotir,  rJJ'-m&r,  flying  report         ff  As-cribo,    As-krlbe',  to  attribute,  to 
'    ci-sive,  d6-sl'-8?v,  couclutiive,  fi-         imiMiie 

rial  h  Trompt,    pr6mt,  to    incite,   remind| 

w^y-tem,  kls'-t^.m,  a  ncheire,  method,         quick,  ready 
Hody  of  any  art  or  science  dd    In-ad-ver-ten-cy,    In-4d-»4r-t4i>-i4 

,  De-ter-mino,  d^tir'-niln,  to  fix,  iimitj^      negligence,  carelcMneM 


i|  English  Header.  Ptift  1 

Tilt  injustice  of  an  uncharitable  spirit. 

1.  A  SUSPICIOUS^  uncharitable  spirit  is  not  only  incon 
flstent  with  all  social  virtue  and  happiness^  but  it  is  also, 
in  itself,  unreasonable  and  unjust.  In  order  to  form 
sound  opinions  concerning  cliaracters  and  actions,  two 
things  are  especially  requisite,  information  and  impartial- 
ity. But  such  as  are  most  forward  to  decide  unfavoura- 
bly, are  commonly  destitute  of  both.  Instead  of  possess- 
ing, or  even  requiring,  full  information,  the  grounds  on 
which  they  proceed  are  frequently  the  most  dight  and 
frivolous." 

2.  A  tale,  perhaps,  which  the  idle  have  invented,  the 
inquisitive  have  listened. to,  and  the  credulous  have  pro- 
pagated ;  or  a  real  incident  which  rumc  ^'•,''  in  carrying  it 
aK»iig,  has  exaggerated  and  disguised,  supplies  them  with 
materials  of  confident  assertion,  and  decisive'- judgment. 
From  an  action  they  presently  look  Into  the  heart,  and 
infer  the  motive.  This  supposed  motive  they  conclude 
to  he  the  ruling  principle  ;  and  pronounce  at  once  con- 
rerning  tlie  whole  character. 

S.  Nothing  can  be  more  contrary  both  to  equity  ar>d 
to  sound  reason,  than  this  precipitate  judgment.  Any 
man  who  attejids  to  what  passes  within  himself,  may  ea- 
sily discern  what  a  complicated  system*^  the  human  char 
acter  is ;  and  what  a  variety  of  circumstances  must  be 
taken  into  the  account,  in  order  to  estimate  it  truly.  No 
'single  instance  of  conduct  whatever,  is  sufficient  to  de- 
termine* it. 

4.  As  from  one  worthy  action,  it  were  credulity,  not 
charity,  to  conclude  a  person  to  be  free  from  all  vice ;  60 
from  one  which  is  censurable,  it  is  perfectly  unjust  to  in- 
fer that  the  author  of  it  is  without  conscience  and  with- 
out merit./  If  we  knew  all  the  atteiidin;;  ftrcumstances, 
it  might  appear  in  an  excus  ibie  ligiit ;  nay,  })=  rhaps,  un- 
der a  commendable  form.  The  motives  of  the  actor  may 
have  been  entirely  diiiV'rent  from  those  which  we  ascribe^ 
to  him ;  and  where  we  suppose  him  impelhid  by  bad  de- 
sign, he  may  have  been  prompted'*  by  conscience  and 
anstaken  principle. 

5.  Admitting  the  action  to  have  been  in  every  view 
criminal,  he  maj^  have  been  hurried  into  it  through  inad- 
vertency* and  surprise.  He  may  have  sincerely  renented ; 
and  the  virtuous  principle  m^'  have  now  regained  its  full 
vigour.  Perhaps  this  was  the  corner  of  frailty ;  the  quar- 
ter oo  which  he  lay  opea  to  the  incursions  of  tPmpUtioo ; 


ehap.^ 


AHfiUMENTATITE   FlECES. 


while  the  other  arenues  of  his  heart  were  firmty  guard- 
ed by  conscience. 

6.  It  is  therefore  evident,  that  no  part  of  the  govern- 
ment of  temper  deserves  attention  more,  than  to  keep 
our  minds  pure  from  uncharitable  prejudices,  and  open 
to  candour  and  humanity  in  judging  of  others.  The 
worst  consequences,  both  to  ourselves  and  to  society,  fol- 
low from  the  opposite  spirit.  slair. 

SECTION  IV. 


a  Dis-cuss,  d!s-k8s',  to  examine,  to  dis- 
perse any  Imrnuur  or  sueililig 

b  Pe-«<.t,  be-si<^l',   lt»  besiege,  elnbar^aR^ 

e  Kc-piiic,  r^-pliie',  lo  fret,  to  be  dis- 
coHtented 

d  S<i-bri-e-ty,  sA-brl'  A-t4,  temixirance, 
ieriousness 

<  Mar-tyr,  inlr'-t6i,  oiie  who  dies  for 
the  truth 

/  Doom,  (Id&m,  to  condemn,  destine 
'he  ptHte  to  which  out',  is  destined 

f  Be-lray,  b6-t>  it',  to  give  into  the  haiidt 
of  enemies 

h  Pur-sue,  pSr^ei',  to  chase,  prosecote, 


to  follow  as  an  example 
(  Taint,  tint,  to  stain,  infect,  bleoiiMi 
j  In-volve,  !n-v64v',   to  iuwrap,  coni* 

prise,  to  entangle,  to  blend 
k  De-vi-atc,  di'-v4  ite,  to  Wander  fto0| 

the  right  way 
/  In-tcs-tiue,  In-t&i'-tin,  mternal,  domt^ 

tick 
la  Array,  ir-ri',  dress,  order  of  battle. 

to  put  on  dress,  to  put  in  order  m 

battle 
n  Beseech,  b^-s^itsh',  to  entreat,  t» 

implore 


The  misfortunet  of  men  mostly  charTeahle  on  themstlvea. 

1.  We  find  man  placed  in  a  world,  wheie  he  has  by 
no  means  the  disposal  of  the  events  that  happen.  Ca- 
lamities sometimes  befall  the  worthiest  and  the  best,  which 
it  is  not  in  their  power  to  prevent,  and  where  nothing  is 
left  them,  but  to  acknowleage,  and  to  submit  to,  the  high 
liand  of  heaven.  For  such  visitations  of  trial,  many  good 
and  wise  reasons  can  be  assigned,  which  the  present  sub- 
ject leads  me  not  to  discuss.*  But  though  those  una- 
voidable calamities  make  a  part,  yet  they  make  not  the 
chief  part,  of  the  vexations  and  sorrows  that  distress  hu- 
man life. 

2.  A  multitude  of  evils  beset*  us,  for  the  source  of 
which  we  must  look  to  another  quarter.  No  sooner  has 
any  thing  in  the  health,  or  in  the  circumstances  of  men, 
gone  cross  to  their  wish,  than  they  begin  to  talk  of  the 
unequal  distribution  of  the  good  things  of  this  life  ;  they 
envy  the  condition  of  others  ;  they  repine*  at  their  own 
lot,  and  fret  against  the  Ruler  of  the  world. 

4.  Full  of  these  sentiments,  one  man  pines  under  ^ 
broken  constitution.  Bullet  us  ask  him,  whether  he  can^ 
fairly  and  honestly,  assign  no  cause  for  this  but  the  un- 
known decree  of  heaven  ?  Has  he  duly  valued  the  bk#- 


..* 


04  £i«6LiSH  Keadeiu  Part 

sing  of  health,  and  always  observed  the  rules  of  virtue 
and  sobriety  1'^  Has  he  been  moderate  in  his  life,  and 
temperate  in  all  his  pleasures  ?  If  now  he  is  only  paying 
the  price  of  his  fortiier,  perheips  his  forgotten  indulgen- 
ces, has  he  any  title  to  complain,  as  if  lie  were  suifering 
unjustly  ? 

4.  Were  we  to  survey  the  chamber^  of  sickness  and 
distress,  we  should  often  find  them  peopled  with  the  vic- 
tims of  mtemperance  and  sensuality,  and  with  the  chil- 
dren of  vicious  indolence  and  sloth.  Among  the  thou- 
sands who  languish  there,  we  should  find  the  proportion 
of  innocent  sufferers  to  be  small.  We  should  see  faded 
youth,  premature  old  age,  and  the  prospect  of  an  untimely 
grave,  to  be  the  portion  of  multitudes,  who  in  one  way 
or  other,  have  brought  those  evils  on  themselves  ;  wiiile 
yet  these  martyrs"  of  vice  and  folly  have  the  assurance  to 
arraign  the  hard  fate  of  man,  ana  to  "  fret  against  the 
Lord.'* 

5.  But  you,  perhaps,  complain  of  hardships  of  another 
kind  ;  of  the  injustice  of  the  world  ;  of  the  poverty  which 
you  suffer,  ana  the  discouragements  under  which  yoa 
labour  ;  of  the  crosses  and  disappointments  of  which  your 
life  has  been  doomed/ to  be  full.  Before  you  give  too 
much  scope  to  your  discontent,  let  me  desire  you  to  re- 
flect impartially  upon  your  past  train  of  life. 

6.  Have  not  sloth  or  pride,  or  ill  temper,  or  sinful  pas- 
sions, misled  you  often  from  the  path  of  sound  and  wise 
conduct  ?  Have  you  not  been  wanting  to  yourselves  in 
improving  those  opportunities  which  Providence  offered 
you,  for  bettering  and  advancing  your  state  ?  If  you  have 
chosen  to  indulge  your  humour,  or  your  taste,  in  the  grat- 
ifications of  indolence  or  pleasure,  can  j^ou  complain  be- 
cause others,  in  preference  to  you,  have  obtained  those 
advantages  whicn  naturally  belong  to  useful  labours,  and 
honourable  pursuits  ? 

7.  Have  not  the  consequences  of  some  false  steps,  into 
which  your  paesions,  or  your  pleasures,  have  betray ed«  you, 

Eursued^  you  through  much  of  your  hfe ;  tainted,'  per- 
aps,  your  characters,  involved-^  you  in  embarrassments,' 
or  sunk  you  into  neglect  ? — It  is  an  old  saying,  that  eve- 
ry man  is  the  artificer  of  his  own  fortune  in  the  world*' 
It  is  certain,  that  the  world  seldom  turns  wholly  against  a 
man,  unless  through  his  own  fault.  **  Religion  is,"  ia 
general,  **  profitable  unto  all  things." 

8.  Virtue,  dihgencej  and  industry,  joined  with  good 


i  Chap,  4.  Argumenvativb  Tieces.  95 

temper  and  prudence,  have  ever  been  found  the  surest 

road  to  prosperity ;  and  where  men  fail  of  attaining  it, 

i    their  want  of  su^'cess  is  far  oftener  owing  to  their  having 

>  deviated*  from  tliat  road,  than  to  their  having  encoun- 
I  i  tered  insuperable  bars  in  it.  Some  by  being  too  artful, 
'  i  forfeit  the  reputation  of  probity.  Some  by  being  too 
,  I  open,  are  accounted  to  fail  m  prudence.  Others,  by  being 
I  i  fickle  and  changeable,  are  distrusted  by  all. 

, !  9.  The  case  commonly  is,  that  men  seek  to  ascribe 
}  their  disappointments  to  any  cause,  rather  than  to  their 
I  own   misconduct;  and  when  they  can  devise  no  other 

>  cause,  they  lay  them  to  the  charge  of  Providence.  Their 
folly  leads  them  into  vices  ;  their  vices  into  misfortunes  ; 
and  in  their  misfortunes  they  **  murmur  against  Provi- 
dence." 

10.  They  are  doubly  unjust  towards  their  Creator.  In 
their  prosperity,  they  are  apt  to  ascribe  their  success  to 
their  own  diligence,  rather  than  to  his  blessing :  and  ia 
their  adversity,  they  impute  their  distresses  to  his  provi- 
dence, not  to  their  own  misbehaviour.  Whereas,  the 
truth  is  the  very  reverse  of  this.  "  Every  good  and  ev- 
ery perfect  gift  cometh  from  above  ;"  and  of  evil  and  mis- 
ery, man  is  the  author  to  himself. 

11.  When  from  the  condition  of  individuals,  we  look 
abroad  to  the  pubHc  state  of  the  world,  we  meet  with 
more  proofs  of  the  truth  of  this  assertion.  We  see  ^reat 
societies  of  men  torn  in  pieces  by  intestine'  dissensions, 
tumults,  and  civil  commotions.     We  see  mighty  armies 

!  going  forth,  in  formidable  array,*"  against  each  other,  to 
cover  the  earth  with  blood,  and  to  fill  the  air  with  the 
cries  of  widows  and  orphans.  Sad  evils  these  are,  to 
which  this  miserable  world  is  exposed. 

12.  But  are  these  evils,  i  beseech"  you,  to  be  imputed 
to  God  ?  Was  it  he  who  sent  forth  slaughtering  armies 
into  the  field,  or  who  filled  the  peaceful  city  with  massa- 
cres and  blood  ?  Are  these  miseries  any  other  than  the 
bitter  fruit  of  men*s  violent  and  disorderly  passions  ?  Are 
they  not  clearly  to  be  traced  to  the  ambition  and  vices  of 
princes,  to  the  quarrels  of  the  great,  and  to  the  turbu- 
lence of  the  people  ? — Let  us  lay  them  entirely  out  of  the 

;  account,  in  tninfeing  of  Providence  ;  and  let  us  think  only 
of  the  "  foolishness  of  man." 

IS.  Did  man  control  his  passions,  and  form  his  cod- 
duct  according  to  the  dictates  of  wisdom,  humanity,  and 
virtue,  the  eafth  would  no  longer  be  desolated  by  cruelty ; 


m  ISiroLitH  KCADEK.  Pari  1 

and  human  socletiea  would  Hve  in  order,  harmony,  and 
peace.  In  those  scenes  of  mischief  and  violence  which 
till  the  world,  let  man  behold,  with  shame,  the  picture  of 
his  vices,  his  ignorance,  and  folly.  Let  him  be  humbled 
by  the  mortifymg  view  of  his  'own  perverseness  ;  but  let 
not  his  **  heart  fret  against  the  Lord."  blair. 


# 


SECTION  V. 


I  ?o-sit-ion,  p^z!sh'-fi»,  situation,  prin 


ciple  laid  down  ll  Satis  fuc-tio«,  s4t-l»-fik'-«h&Q,  fratl- 


bind,  to  please 


ficalion 

m  Poise,  pft^ise,  to  baJauce,  to  weigh 

n  Renounce,  ri-n^uiwe',  to  disown 

0  Ac-iu-ate,  4k'-l«hi-4te,  to  put  io  ac- 
tion 

p  Observe,  ib-xlr*',  to  Hote,  regard, 
obey 

q  A-ver-sioB,  A-r4r'-ah5fl,  hatred,  dis- 
like 

r  In-com-pat-ibI«,tn-k&m-pAt'-4-bl,  li^ 
consistent,  with  something  else 

«  Mo- live,  roi'-dr,  that  whidt  deter- 
mineti  the  choioe 

t  Am  ;-ca- jle,  4m'-^-ki-bl,  frieodlj, 
kind 

V.  Lull,  Ifii,  t9  compote  to  sleep 

V  l*re-<;lude,  pro-ki6d€',  to  shut  out 


A  Tof-ture,  tAr'-tshire,  pain,  angtnfifa, 

punisimient 
c  Soph-»s-tr}',  86f'-fls-tri,  fallacious  ar- 

guraent 
d  In-gre-*lier.t,  In-gri'-j&iit,  componenl 

part  of  a  body 
«  Ten-et,  tSn'-nit,  a  principle,  opinion 
/  Cast,  kist,  a  throw,  motion  of  the 

eye,  form,  to  form 
f  Prop-o-sit-ion,   pr6p-6-z!sh'-An,  any 

thing  proposed 
A  Aiix-il-ia-ry,  iwg-zfl' -yi-ri,  helpings 

aesisting,  help,  assistance 
t  AMi-aiice,  4l-li'-Anso,  connexiob  by 

league 
J  In-di-geBce,  tn'-dA-j6n«e,  want,  por- 

erty 
k  0-bligo,   A-blldje',  or  A-bl^Adje',  to 

On  disinterested  friendship. 

1.  I  AM  informed  that  certain  Creek  writers  (philoso- 
phers, it  seems,  in  the  opinion  of  their  countrymen)  have 
advanced  some  very  extraordinary  positions^  relating  to 
friendship  ;  as,  indeed,  what  subject  is  there,  which  the 
subtle  ceniuses  have  not  tortured'-  with  their  sophistry  l« 

2.  The  authors  to  whom  I  refer,  dissuade  their  disci- 
ples from  entering  into  any  strong  attachments,  as  una- 
voidably creating  supernumerary  disquietudes  to  those 
who  engage  in  thern ;  and,  as  every  man  has  more  than 
sufficient  to  call  forth  his  solicitude,  in  the  course  of  his 
own  affairs,  it  is  a  weakness,  they  contend,  anxiously  to 
involve  himself  in  the  concerns  oY  others. 

3.  They  recommend  it  also,  in  all  connexions  of  this 
kind,  to  hold  the  bands  of  union  extremely  loose ;  so  as 
always  to  have  it  in  one's  power  to  straiten  or  relax 
thein,  as  circumstances  and  situations  shall  rt^nder  mtist 
expedient.  They  add,  as  a  capital  article  of  their  doc- 
trine, that,  **  to  live  exempt  from  cares,  is  an  essential  m- 
gredienf  to  constitute  human  happiness :  but  an  mgrddi- 


Chap.  4.  Arguhentativee  Tieces.  m 

fnt,  ho-vvever,  which  he.  who  voluntarily  dietre©se«  blm- 
Kclf  with  cares,  in  which  he  ha«  no  necesuary  and  oms. 
fioiial  interest,  must  never  hope  to  possess.** 

4.  i  have  been  told  likewise,  that  there  is  another  wet 
of  pretended  philosophers,  of  the  same  country,  who^ 
tenets,'  concerning  this  subject,  are  of  a  sliii  mor-e  illib- 
eral and  unji;enerous  cast./ 

5.  The  proposition^  they  attempt  to  establish,  is,  that 
*'  friendship  is  an  ailair  of  self-interest  entirely  ;  and  that 
the  pro]HU-  motive    for   engaging   in  it,  is  not  in  order  to 

fjratify  the  kind  and  benevolent  affections,  hut  for  thtt 
)enefit  of  that  iissistance  <uui  supiK)rt  which  are  to  be  de- 
rived from  the  connexiota." 

€,  Accordingly  tliey  assert,  th-at  those  persons  tr« 
most  disposed  to  have  recourse  to  auxiliary*  alliances^  of 
tliis  kind,  who  are  least  qualified  by  uatAire,,or  fortune,  to 
depend  upon  their  own  strength  aridpowers  ;  the  weaker 
sex,  for  instance,  being  gent-raJly  more  incliti4?d  to  engago 
in  friendships,  tiian  the  male  part  of  our  species  ;  and 
those  who  are  depres«ed  by  inaigence,>  or  labouring  un- 
der mi-sfortunes,  than  tUe  wealthy  and  the  prosperous. 

7.  Excellent  and  obliging*  sages,  these,  undoubtedly  5 
To  strike  out  the  friendly  a iiections  from  the  moral  world, 
would  b/>  hke  exlinguitihing  the  sun  in  the  natural ;  each 
of  them  bein^  tlie  source  of  the  best  and  most  grateful 
satisfactions,^  that  Heaven  has  conferred  on  the  sows  of 
^en,  liut  1  should  l>e  glad  to  know,  what  the  real  val- 
ue of  thJs  boasted  exemption  from  care,  which  they  pro- 
mise their  disciples,  justly  amounts  to  ?  an  exemptiuR 
flattering  to  sejf-love,  1  confess  ;  but  which,  upon  maoy 
occurrences  in  hiynan  life,  sJiould  be  rejected  witli  tho 
utmost  disdain. 

a.  For  notiiinj;,  surely,  can  be  more  inconsistent  with 
a  well-iioised"'  and  manJy  spirit,  than  to  decline  engaging 
in  any  laudai)le  action,  or  to  be  discouraged  from  perse- 
jeering  in  it,  by  an  apprehension  of  the  trouble  and  solici* 
tude  witli  which  it  may  probably  be  attended. 

9.  Virtue  herself,  inojed,  ought  to  be  totally  renounr 
ced,«  if  it  be  right  to  avoid  every  possible  means  that  may 
be  productive  of  unea«ine?5 ;  for  who,  that  is  actuatedh* 
by  her  principles,  can  observe/'  the  condiict  of  an  oppo- 
«ite  cliaracter,  witliout  being  affected  wit ii  some  dcgre« 
of  secret  dissatisfaction  ? 

10.  Are  not  the  just,  the  br<ive,  and  the  good,  necesSA*^ 
eily  exposed  to  the  disa^jreeable   emolkuw  of  disIiJte  f^ 


grs  English  Reader.  jF%rl  J, 

I 

aversion,*  when  they  respectively  meet  with  instances  oC 
fraud,  of  cowardice,  or  of  villany  ?  It  is  an  essential 
property  of  every  well  constituted  mind,  to  be  atFeGted 
with  pain,  or  pleasure,  according  to  the  nature  of  those 
moral  appearances  that  present  themselves  to  observa- 
tion. 

11.  If  sensibility,  therefore,  be  not  incompatible^  with 
true  wisdom,  (and  it  surely  is  not,  unless  we  suppose 
that  philosophy  deadens  every  finer  feeling  of  our  nature,) , 
what  just  reason  can  be  asrsigned,  why  the  sympathetic 
sufferings  which  may  result  from  friendship,  should  be  V 
sufiicient  inducement  for  banishing  that  generous  affec- 
tion from  the  human  breast  ? 

12.  Extinguish  all  emotions  of  the  heart,  and  what  dif^m 
ference  will  remain,  I  do  not  say  between  man  and  brute^ 
but  between  man  and  a  mere  inanimate  clod?  Away  then 
with  those  austere  philosophers,  who  represent  virtue  as 
hardening  the  soul  against  all  the  softer  impressions,  of 
humanity ! 

13.  The  fact,  certainly,  is  much  otherwise.  A  truly 
good  man  is  upon  many  occasions,  extremely  susceptible 
of  tender  sentiments;  and  his  heart  expands  with  joy,  or 
shrinks  with  sorrow,  as  good  or  ill  fortune  accompanies 
kis  friend.  Upon  the  whole,  then,  it  may  fairly  be  con- 
cluded, that  as  in  the  case  of  virtue,  so  in  that  of  friend- 
ship, those  painful  sensations  which  may  sometimes  be 
produced  by  the  one,  as  well  as  by  the  other,  are  equally 
insufficient  'grounds  for  excluding  either  of  them  from 
taking  possession  of  our  bosoms. 

14.  They  who  insist  that  "utility  is  the  first  and  pre- 
yailing  motive,*  which  induces  mankind  to  enter  into  par« 
ticular  friendships,*'  appear  to  me  to  divest  the  association 
of  its  most  amiable  and  engaging  principle.  For  to  a 
mind  rightly  disposed,  it  is  not  so  much  the  benefits  re- 
ceived, as  the  aflectionate  zeal  from  which  they  flow,  that 
gives  them  their  best  and  most  valuable  recommendation. 

15.  It  is  so  far  indeed  from  being  verified  by  fact,  that 
a  sense  of  our  wants  is  the  original  cause  of  forming  these 
amicable'  alliances  ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  observa- 
ble, that  none  have  been  more  distinguished  in  their  friend- 
ships than  those,  whose  power  and  opulf^ rrpe^  but,  above 
ail,  whose  superior  virtue,  (a  much  firmer  support,)  have 
raised  them  above  every  necessity  of  having  recourse  to 
the  assistance  of  others. 

10.  The  ti'ue  distinction  then,  in  this  qu'^stion,  is,  that 


Ch^.  4.  Argumentative  Tieces.  ffO- 

"  althouj^ia  friendship  is  certainly  productive  of  utility, 
yet  utility  is  not  the  primary  motive  of  frit'ndshin*'* 
Those  se^lfish  sensualists,  therefore,  who,  lulled"  in  llie  lap 
of  luxury,  presume  to  maintair)  the  reverse,  have  surelv 
no  claim  to  attention  ;  as  they  are  neither  qualif.ed  hv  rt 
flection,  nor  experience,  to  f)e  coiupetent  judges  of  th« 
subject. 

17.  Is  there  ii  man  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  who 
would  deliberateh'  accept  of  all  the  wealth,  and  all  the 
aflluence  this  world  can  bestow,  if  offered  to  him  u])on 
the  severe  terms  of  his  hein;;  unconnected  with  a  single 
mortal  whom  he  could  love,  or  by  whom  he  should  l)e 
beloved?  Th.is  would  be  to  lead  the  wretched  life  of  a 
•detested  tyrant,  who,  amidst  perpetual  suspicions  and  a- 
larms,  ])asses  his  miserable  days  a  stranj^er  to  every  ten- 
der sentiment;  and  utterly  precluded"  froin  the  heart-felt 
ftiitisfactions  of  friendship. 

Mel  moth's  translation  of  Cictro^s  Letliits, 

SECTION  VI. 


«  R-s*rRb-liBh,  A-stAh'-lTsh,  t<>  soUle,  fix 

b  lin-inu-te-ri-al-i-fy,  ^ii-inA-ti-r6-4l -e 
t^.,  (iistijiciiieiis  from  body 

c  E-vincc,  ^-v^nse',  to  [irovi*,  to   i<lii>\« 

d  Coin-mis-sion,  k6m-in?.sh'-ftn,  a  tnisi 
a  wiirra<it  by  which  any   truht  i^ 
fioki,  HCl  oJ"  cuiiunilifjg  !i  iTiiiio 
Vo-rao-i-ty,  v^-iis'-c-li,  ui'Jial  iruth 
truth 

/  PMjj-ress,    pruj,''-j:i?r..    c<'iirac,    ad- 
vuiiCcnKinl  7  , 

g-  Ar-rivo,  ftr-rlve',  to  rftarh  a  plaiic  b} 
travelling 

h  Dis-cov-er-y,  fns-kftv'-flr-/',  the  find- 
ing Of  '.uve;ilii)g  aoy  ilni.g 


t  Nur-ser-y,  nftr'-8»V-ri,ii  plantation  •f 

yomijij  trues 

HI  Suc-c-4^i»  bion,  si^k  b??h'-fin,  uii  order- 
ly Bfcr'f-H,  line  <'f'  or«^cr 

n  Ilii-Hi-meiit.  r«'''V-cli-m^nt,  iho  first 
piirtof  Ciiuoa> it'll 

f)  Ac-c'.;ot.i«>ii,  6k  d<ibh'-6i),  increase, 
ij  to 

p  P(»JMi-li-iv,  bi'-t^-fi,  to  adorn,  em 
bMiiisii  " 

/  Ke-sci?j-l>lanco,  ri-z^m'-blinse,  like 
i.ot^s,  rii-oiiilud*-,  r<.'pr€scMii;ttioH 

r  Finite,  f  i -ni?e;  Ihuitijd,  b-.)uudfc<l 

fi  Oiifir-ub,  ikK? r'-flb,  a  selostiai  spirit 

t  Source,   g6r^e,  spring,    origmul,  first 


»  Sue  cess-or,  «5k-h8s'  fir,  <Mie  that  foil        (•iai»c 

lows  nnoih^r  |«  Miith-i;-mat-i-cal,  n.Atli  iVmAt'-*-k4l 

j  A-bor-tive,   A-Mr'-t!v,  bringing  foitb  rclHfiri^  ui  n)?tihcniaiirl:.s 

noihiug  \v  Trai«.s-p<>rl,  Irjiiw-jxirt,   convt.yi:nc« 

4  Ca-pac-i  ty,  kA-p^'-i-t^,  [)0uer,   a-j         rajUuu:,  u  vo.'»*iei  ot  carriage 

biJity,  condition 

On  the  immorUdihj  of  Ihe  soul. 
1.  I  WAS  yesterday  walkin;^  alone,  in  one  of  my  friend's 
woods  ;  and.  lost  myself  in  it  very  as^reeably,  as  Twas  run 
ning;  over,  in  my  mind,  the  several  arg:uments  that  estab- 
lish this  great  point ;  which  is  the  basis  of  morality,  and 
the  source  of  all  the  pleasing  hopes,  and  secret  joys,  that 
can  arise  in  the  heart  of  a  reasonable  ci-eature.  '  I  conoid- 


J 00  ENGLISH  Header.  Part  1. 

cred  those  several  proofs  drawn,  first,  ft'om  the  nature  of 
the  soul  itself,  and  particularly  its  immateriality  \^  which, 
thougii  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  eternity  of  its 
duration,  has»  1  think,  been  evinced^  to  almost  a  demon- 
stration. 

2.  Secondly,  from  its  passions  and  sentiments  ;  as  par- 
ticularly, from  its  love  of  existence  ;  its  horror  of  annihi- 
lation ;  and  its  hopes  of  immortality ;  with  that  secret 
satisfaction  which  it  finds  in  the  practice  of  virtue  ;  and 
that  uneasiness  which  follows  upon  the  commission**  of 
vice. — Thirdly,  from  the  nature  of  the  supreme  Being, 
whose  justice,  goodness,  wisdom,  and  veracity/  are  all 
concerned  in  this  point. 

S.  But  among  those,  and  other  excellent  arguments  for 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  there  is  one  drawn  from  the 
perpetual  progress/  of  the  soul  to  its  perfection,  without 
a  possibility  of  ever  arriving;'  at  it ;  which  is  a  hint  that 
I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  opened  and  improved  by 
others,  who  have  written  on  this  subject,  though  it  seems 
to  me  to  carry  a  very  ^rcat  weight  with  it. 

4.  How  can  it  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  man,  that  the 
soul,  which  is  capable  of  immense  perfections,  and  of  re- 
ceiving new  improvements  to  all  eternity,  shall  fall  awav 
into  nothing,  almost  as  soon  as  it  is  created  ?  iVre  such 
abilities  made  for  no  purpose  ?  A  brute  arrives  at  a  point 
of  perfection,  that  he  can  never  pass  :  in  a  few  years  he 
has  all  the  endowments  he  is  capable  of;  and  were  he  to 
live  ten  thousand  more,  would  be  the  same  thing  he  is  at 
present 

5.  Were  a  human  soul  thus  at  a  stand  in  her  accomplish- 
ments ;  were  her  faculties  to  be  full  blown,  and  incapable 
<>f  farther  enlargements  ;  1  could  imagine  she  might  fall 
iiway  insensibly,  and  drop  at  once  into  a  state  of  annihi- 
I'ltion.  But  can  we  believe  a  thinking  being  that  is  in  a 
perpetual  progress  of  improvement,  and  travelling  on 
from  perfection  to  perfection,  after  having  just  looked  a- 
hroad  into  the  works  of  her  Creator,  and  made  a  few  dis- 
coveries* of  his  infinite  goodness,  wisdom,  and  power, 
must  perish  at  her  first  setting  out,  and  in  the  very  be- 
ginning of  her  inquiries  ? 

6.  Man,  considered  only  in  his  present  state,  seems 
sent  into  the  world  merely  to  propagate  his  kind.  He 
provides  himself  with  a  successon  ;  and  immediately  quits 
uis  post  to  make  vo^sra  for  him.  He  does  not  seem  born 
to  cnjr,y  life,  but  to   Aclix^c  it  ck)TV.i  to  others.     Thi&  i* 


Ckap.  4.  AftGlIMKiNTATIVE    PlEC]^  lOi 

not  surprising  to  coubKler  in  animals,  wliicli  arc  formed 
for  our  use,  and  which  can  iinisli  their  business  in  a  short 
life. 

7.  The  silk-worm,  after  having;  spun  her  task,  lays  her 
e^gs  and  dies.  But  a  man  cannot  take  in  iiis  full  measure 
oi  knowledge,  has  not  time  to  subdue  his  passions,  estab- 
lish his  soul  in  virtu;  ,  and  come  up  to  the  perfection  of 
his  nature,  before  he  is  htUTied  oft'  the  stage.  \\  ould  an 
infinitely  wise  Being  make  such  glorious  '.reatures  lor  sa 
mean  a  purpose  ?  Can  he  delight  u\  the  production  of  such 
abortiv tv  intelligences,  such  shoit-lived  reasonable  beings  / 
Would  he  give  us  talents  that  are  not  to  be  exerted  I  ca- 
pacities^ thnt  are  never  to  be  |:;ratified  ? 

8.  How  can  we  find  that  wisdom  which  shines  through 
all  his  works,  in  the  formation  of  lAan,  without  looking 
on  this  world  as  only  a  nursery'  for  the  next ;  and  witli- 
out  believing  tliat  the  several  generations  of  rational  crea- 
tures, which  rise  up  and  disappear  in  such  quick  succt;s- 
sions,»«  are  only  to  receive  then*  first  rudimtmts"  of  exis- 
tence here,  and  afterwards  to  be  trau-'planted  into  a  more 
friendly  climate,  where  they  aiay  spr«.-ad  and  llourisii  lo 
all  eternity  I 

9.  There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more  pleasing  and 
triumphant  consideration  in  religion,  than  tjiis  ()f  the  per- 
petual progress,  which  the  soul  makes  towards  tbe  pcr- 
lection  of  its  nature,  without  ever  arriving  at  a  perioil  in 
it.  To  look  upon  the  soul  as  going  im  from  strength  1«» 
strength  ;  to  consider  that  she  is  t»)  shine  for  ever  with 
new  accessions"  of  glory,  and  brighten  to  all  eternity; 
that  she  will  be  still  adding  virtue  to  virtue,  and  know- 
ledge to  knowledge ;  carries  in  it  sometlnng  Avonderfully 
agreeal)le  to  that  ambition,  which  is  natural  to  the  mind 
of  man. 

10.  Ney,  it  must  be  a  prospect  pleasing  to  God  him- 
self, to  see  his  creation  for  ever  beautifying^  in  ins  eyes  ; 
and  drawing  nearer  to  him,  by  greater  degrees  of  resem- 
biance.'^  Methinks  this  single  cunsideratiori,  of  the  pro- 
gress of  a  finite  spirit  to  perfection,  will  be  sufiicient  to 
extinguish  all  envy  in  inferior  natures,  and  all  contempt 
in  superior. 

11.  That  cherub*  which  now  appears  as  a  god  to  a  hu- 
man soul,  knows  very  well  that  the  period  will  come  a- 
bout  in  eternity,  when  the  human  soul  shall  be  as  perfect 
as  he  himself  now  is:  nay,  when  she  shall  look  duwn  up- 
•O  tliat  Cegree  of  perfection,  as  much  an  she  now   iaiU 

La 


im 


Err&LisH  Reader, 


Fart  I. 


sliort  of  St.  It  is  true,  the  higher  nature  still  advances^ 
and  by  that  means  preserves  his  distance  and  superiortty 
in  the  scale  of  being  ;  but  he  knows  that,  how  high  soever 
the  station  is  of  whick  he  stands  possessed  at  present,  th^e 
inferior  nature  will,  at  length,  mount  up  to  it  ;  and  shine 
forth  in  the  same  degree  of  glory. 

12.  With  what  asto^nishment  and  veneration,  may  we 
look  into  our  OAvn  souls,  where  there  are  such  hidden 
stores  of  virtue  and  knowledge,  such  inexhausted  sources^ 
of  perfection  !  We  know  not  yet  what  w^e  shall  be ;  nor 
will  it  ever  enter  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive  the 
glory  that  will  be  always  in  reserve  for  him. 

13.  The  soul,  considered  with  its  Creator,  is  like  one  ot 
those  mathematical"  lines,  that  may  draw  nearer  to  another 
for  all  eternity,  without  a  possibility  of  touching  it :  and  can; 
there  be  a  thought  so  transporting"  as  to  consider  our- 
•elves  in  these  perpetual  approaches  to  him,  who  is  the 
standard  not  only  of  perfection,  but  of  happiness  ? 

ADDISON. 


CHAPTER  V. 
SECTION    1. 


•-Reg-u-lar-i-ty,  rSg-Wir'-i-ti,  method, 
certain  order 

A  Obe-di-ence,  A-b^'-jA-Snse,  submis- 
giun  to  authority 

e  Dis-frimi-nate,  (l!s-kr!m'-i-ni.te,  to 
mark,  select,  se|>arale 

d  Un-rte-light-iul,  6ii-d6-Hte'-fuI,  not 
pleasing 

g  In-8iance,in'-sfftnse,  importunity,  mo- 
tive, exaini)ie,  to  oftV-.r  ati  example 

/  Glow,  glo,  to  be  heated,  to  burn 

g  Yield,  y66ld,  to  produce,  resign,  sub- 
mit 

h  Scene,  si^n,  the  stage  part  of  a  play, 


the  general  appearance  of  any  ac- 
tion, the  whole  mixture  of  objects 

i  Cot-toge,.  kot'-tije  a  hut,  a  mean  hab^ 
itutioB 

j  Gran-a-ry,  gr&n'-4-r4,  a  gtore-hooM 
for  corn 

k  Car-ni-val,  kir'-ni-v&l,  a  feast 

■I  Q,ui-e-t.ude,  kwl'-^-tude,  rest,  repose, 
(juiet 

m  Bn-nig-nant,  b6-n?g'-n4nt,  gracious, 
kind 

n  A-dapt,  4-d&pt',  to  fit,  proportion 

0  In-iio-va-tion,  !n-n6-vi'-sh6n,  intro- 
duction of  rwveity 


The  Seasons. 


I.  XjLMONG  the  great  blessings  and  womJers  of  the  \ 
creation,  miiy  he  cla&sed  the  regalaritiesa  of  times  and' 


CiMp,  5*  Descriptive  Pieces.  10© 

seasons.  Immediately  after  the  flood,  the  sacred  pr<Hn- 
ise  was  made  to  man,  that  seed-thne  and  harvest,  cold 
and  heat,  summer  and  winter,  day  and  night,  should  corv 
tinue  to  the  very  end  of  all  tiiinj^s.  Accordingly,  in  oIms- 
dience*  to  that  promise,  the  rotation  is  constantly  pre- 
sentinj^  us  with  some  useful  and  agreeable  alteration  ; 
.ind  all  the  pleasing  novelty  of  life  arises  from  these  nat- 
ural changes  :  nor  are  we  less  indebted  to  them  for  many 
of  its  solid  comforts. 

2.  It  has  been  frequently  the  task  of  the^  moralist  and 
poet,  to  mark,  in  polished  periods,  the  particular  charms 
and  conveniences  of  every  change  ;  and,  indeed,  such 
discriminate*"  observations  upon  natural  variety,  cannot 
b(;  undelightful  ;^  since  the  blessing  which  every  month 
brings  along  with  it,  is  a  fresh  instance*  of  the  wisdom 
and  bounty  of  that  Providence,  which  regulates  the  glo- 
ries of  the  year.  We  glow/  as  we  contemplate  ;  wfii 
feel  a  propensity  to  adore,  whilst  we  enjoy. 

3.  In  the  time  of  seed-sowing,  it  is  the  season  of  COU' 
Jidence  ;  the  grain  which  the  husbandman  trusts  to  the 

Dosom  of  the  earth,  shall,  hapiy,  yields  its  seven-fold  re- 
wards. Spring  presents  us  with  a  scenc^  of  lively  cjp«c- 
tation.  That  which  was  before  sown,  begins  now  to  dis- 
cover signs  of  successful  vegetation.  The  labourer  ob- 
serves the  change,  and  anticipates  the  harvest ;  he  watch 
es  the  progress  of  nature,  and  smiles  at  her  influence 
while  the  man  of  contemplation  walks  forth  with  the 
evening,  amidst  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  and  promises  of 
plenty ;  nor  returns  to  his  cottage*  till  darkness  olos€^ 
;he  scene  upon  his  eye. 

4.  Then  cometh  the  harvest,  when  the  large  wish  lei 
satisfied,  and  the  granaries;  of  nature  are  loaded  with  the 
means  of  life,  even  to  a  luxury  of  abundance.  The  pow- 
ers of  language  are  unequal  to  the  description  oi  thi3 
happy  season.  It  is  the  carnival*  of  nature  ;  sun  and  shade, 
coolness  and  quietude,^  cheerfulness  and  melody,  love 
and  gratitude,  unite  to  render  every  scene  of  summer  da- 
fighiful. 

5.  The  division  of  light  and  darkness  is  one  of  the 
kindest  efforts  of  Omnipotent  Wisdom.  Day  and  night 
yield  us  contrary  blessings ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  assist 
each  other,  by  giving  fresh  lustre  to  the  delights  of  both- 
Amidst  the  glare  of  day,  and  bustle  of  life,  how  coula 
we  sleep  ?  Amidst  the  gloom  of  darkness,  how  could  we 
jfehour>'^ 


)6lL  English  Hkader*  Pari  J    / 

6«  How  wise,  how  be.nignant,'"  then,  is  the  proper  di- 
vision !  The  hours  of  light  are  adapted"  to  activity  :  and 
^0!ie  of  diirltness  to  rest.  Ere  the  day  is  passed,  exer^ 
cise  and  nature  prepare  us  lor  the  pillow  ;  and  by  the 
time  that  the  morning  returns,  we  are  again  able  to  meet 
H  with  a  smile.  Thus,  every  season  has  a  charm  pecu- 
Jiar  to  itself;  and  every  moment  affords  some  interesting 
kmovation."  meuvigth. 

SECTiON  n, 

a  Dis-rlMiipge,  d^s-tuhSrjti'',  to    vent,  re  Ic  Cat-a-ract,  kA.t'-4-r4kt,  a.  fall  of  wa- 

iearie,  nn    exploKiun,  a  vent,  a   re  I         ter 

loMM  '/  Otv8ta-cle,  6b'-sti-kl,  hindrance,  bar, 

b  Por-l»en-dic  ii-lnr,  pftn-pfin-dlk'-u-i&r 

ciosBiiig  at  right  antics 
«  Kap-iH,  rAi»'-l'<l,  #juick,  fiivvlft,  vioienf 
4  Ltidgi^.y  l£(i>it  ti  ridgt;  rutij*^  nhove  ih( 


if  Tie-men  dous,   tr^-ni&n'-dfts,  dread- 
ful, horiMjIc 
Fu-r5',  t7i'-r»'i,  nnadn<»ss,  rage 
rt««i        "  \  ^^  TJ-niie,  >'6-nUe',  to  join,  to  concur 

The  cataract  of  Niagara,  in  Canada^  North  America. 

!•  This  amazing  fall  of  wnter  is  madn  by  the  river 
8t.  Lawrence,  in  its  passage  from  lake  Erie  into  t'helake 
Ontario.  The  St.  uiwrence  is  one  of  the  largest  rivers 
hi  the  world  :  and  yet  the  whole  of  its  waters  isdischarg- 
<jd«  in  this  place,  by  a  fall  of  a  liundred  and  fifty  feet  per- 
pendicular.'' It  is  not  easy  to  bring  the  imagination  to 
vTorrespond  to  the  greatness  of  the  scene. 

Z.  A  river  extremely  deep  and  rapid,*- and  that  servea 
t^  drain  the  waters  of  almost  al^  North  America  into  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  is  here  poured  precipitately  down  a  ledge*^ 
of  rocks,  that  rises,  like  a  wall,  across  the  whole  bed  o" 
Its  stream.  The  river,  a  little  above,  is  near  three  quarr 
ters  of  a  mile  broad  ;  and  the  rocks,  where  it  grows  nar-^ 
rower,  are  four  hundred  yards  over? 

5.  Their  direction  is  not  straight  across,  but  hollowing 
inwards  like  a  hone-shoe  :  so  that  the  cataract/  which 
bends  to  the  shape  of  the  obstacle,/  rounding  inwards, 
presents  a  kind  of  theatre  the  most  tremendous^  in  na- 
tur«.  Just  in  the  middle  of  this  circular  wall  of  waters, 
*  little  island,  that  has  braved  the  fury^  of  the  current, 
prese.nt8  one  of  its  pojnts,  and  divides  the  stream  at  top 
rnto  two  uarts ;  but  they  unite'  again,  long  before  they 
i«ach  the  nottom. 

.  4.  The  noise  of  the  fall  js  heard  at  the  distanpe  of  sev- 
eral leases  ;  and  the  fury  of  the  waters,  at  the  termina- 
iioi]  of  theM'  fall  is   inconceivable.     The   dashing  produ- 


Cluip.    ft.  DeSCRIPTIVK   PlKCKS^  105 

res  a  mist  that  rises  to  the  very  elouds  ;  antl  wliich  forms 
a  most  beautiful  r;iinht)\v,  wIk'11  tiie  sun  sliines.  Jt  will 
be  readily  supposed,  that  sucli  a  ealHract  entirely  do* 
stroys  tlie  navigation  of  the  stream  :  and  yet  some  Indiana 
in  tiieir  i-.anoes,  it  is  said,  have  ventured  down  it  with 
safety.  goi^dsmitm. 

SECTION  111. 

a  Sub-ter-.ra -ue-ous,    sfib-lir-ra -ni-us,  m  Sj)ar,  Bj-iir,  a  smal!  beam,  bar 

lyiii;;  u:j<ler  tlio  ciinii  [a  ri;i-ri-li,  ii«i'-tr^rtl,  to  chnnge  toitAre 

b  Crni-io,  gr6t'-t6,  a  ciivern  mnde  forlo  Uo-cedo,    r^-jsiiil',  lu  /otrcut,  desist, 

coolurNS  I  tall  b»ck 

e  In-«'.rub  Ui-iion,  Tn-kru8-ti.'-sh&i),    tljc 

act  <ir  incniKtingf 
d  Ci:l-e- Urate,    s^l'-fe-br.\tc,  to    praise. 

ronuue.nil 
e  Mng-iii,  niA'.»'-nl.  an  Ifalinn  traveller 
/  Gi-gsMi-titk, ji  gAii'-iKk,  bulky,  enor 

^  C«)ii-siil,   kiii'-tiftl   an  officer  sent  ti. 

foreign  purls  Id  niatiage  trade 
h   Yawn,  vAwn,  tt.  pii(ie,  to  open  wide 
t  Re-pretis,  r^;-!"-*.-',  l.»  crUKli,  subdiio 
j  lg-ii(i-raiit,  "ijf -ni-rAiit,  uuiusirtJCted, 

rude 
k  Con  crft-tio«,  k6n-kri'  shou,  eoaliliotJ, 

a  unioi.  i)i'  piirtirlcs  I         tjuickeii 

i  In-cile,  In-hite',  to  «iir  up,  aniniate      | 

The  grotto  of  Antiparos, 

[|      1.  Or  all  the  subterraneous"  eaverns   now  known,  the 

[I  grotto''  of  Antiparos  is  the   most  remarkable,  as  well  for 

Us  extent,  as  for  the  beauty  of  its   s})arry   incrustations.* 

'i'his  celebrated"  cavern  was  first  explored  by  one  Magni,« 

an  Italian  traveller,  about  one  hundred  years  a«^o,  at  An- 

(i  tipafDs,  an  inconsiderable  island  of  the  Archipelaj;,o. 

!        !i!.  "  Having  been  infoimed,"  says  he,  "by  the  natives 

'    of  Paros,  that,  in  the  little  island  of  Antiparos,  which  lies 

1;ib()ut  two  miles  from  the  former,  a  gigantic/ statue  was 
to  be  seen  at  the  mouth  of  a  cavern  in  that  place,  it  was 
resolved,  that  we  (the  French  ronsuk  and  myself)  should 
nay  it  a  visit.  In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  after  we 
__  had  landi'd  on  the  island,  and  walked  about  four  miles 
Ihrougii  the  midst  of  beautiful  plains,  and  sloping  wood- 
lands, we  at  length  came  to  a  little  hill,  on  the  side  of 
which  yawned'^  a  most  horrid  cavern,  that,  by  its  j^loom. 
at  first  stiuck  us  with  terror,  and  almost  repressea*  curi- 
esity. 

3.  "  Recovering  the  first  surprise,  however,  we  eL'-^jrw* 


p  ror-8pec-iive,  pftr-spik'-itv,  a  scene, 

a  view 
7  Res-er-voir,    r?z-?r-v\vir',    a    place 

wberc  any  tbui;;  ii$  kept  in  ntoro 
r  Quasii,  k\>&Ali,  to  cruhh,  to  Diake  a 

i!i>i.->e 

.«  riambeau,  flini'-bo,  a   ligbtod  torcli 
t  Aj»-er-iure,  Ap'-{'ir-:siu'ire,    a   passage 

into,  an  <)|ieu  place 
u  Anx-iouN'ly,  ink'-hlias-l^,  riolicitou*' 

ly.  in(|uietly 
u  Cau-tioub-ly,  kiw'-bh&a-li,  watchfuK 

•y 

w  Kx-pe-dife,  ^ks'-pi-dliw,  lo   basten, 


^^  English  Reader,  Part  1 

boldly ;  and  had  not  proceeded  above  twenty  paces,  when 
the  supposed  statue  of  the  ffiant  presented  itself  to  aiip 
view.  We  quickly  perceived,  that  what  the  ignorantj  na- 
tives had  been  terrified  at  as  a  j^iant,  was  nothing;  more  th^air 
a  sparry  concretion,'^  formed  by  the  water  dropping  from 
the  roof  of  the  cave,  and  by  degrees  hairdening  into  a 
figure,  which  their  fears  had  formed  into  a  monster. 

4.  *'■  Incited^  by  this  extraordinary  aj»pea?ance,  we  were 
induced  to  proceed  still  further,  in  qnest  of  new  adven- 
tures in  this  subternvnean  abode.  iVs  we  proceeded,  new 
wonders  offered  themselves  ;  the  spuFS,,"'  formed  iiito  trees 
and  shrubs,  ])resented  a  kind  of  petrifje.d«  grove  ;  some 
white,  some  gr(M.»n  ;  and  all  receding"  in  due  p^^rspectivej' 
They  struck  us  with  the  more  am;izement.,  as  we  knew 
them  to  be  mere  ]iroductions  of  nature,  who,  hitherto  in 
solitude,  had,  in  her  playful  moment;?,  dressed  the  scene, 
as  if  for  her  ov/n  amusement, 

5.  '*  We  had  as  yet  seen  but  a  few^  of  the  wonders  of 
the  place ;  and  we  were  introduced  only  into  the  portico 
of  this  amazing  temple.  In  one  corner  of  this  half  iilif- 
roinated  recess,  there  appeared  an  opening  of  about  three 
feet  wide,  which  seemed  to  lead  to  a  place  totally  dark, 
and  wjjich  one  of  the  natives  assured  us  contained  noth- 
ing more  than  a  reservoirs?  of  water.  Upon  this  infor- 
mation, we  made  an  experiment,  by  throwing  down  some 
stones,  which  rumbling  along  the  sides  of  the  descent  for 
some  time,  the  sound  seemed  at  last  quashed^  in  a  bed  of 
water. 

6.  *'  In  order,  however,  to  be  more  certain,  we  sent  in 
a  Levantine  mariner,  who,  by  the  promise  of  a  ^ood  re- 
ward, ventured,  with  a  flambeau*  in  his  hand,  into  this 
narrow  aperture.*  After  continuing  within  it  for  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  he  returned,  bearmg  in  his  hand, 
some  beautiful  pieces  of  white  spar,  which  art  could  nei- 
ther equal  nor  imitate.  Upon  being  infr)rmed  by  him 
that  the  place  was  full  of  these  beautiful  incrustations,  1 
ventured  in  once  mor(^  with  him,  about  fifty  paces,  anx- 
iously and  cautiously  descending,  by-  a  steep  and  dan- 
gerous way. 

7.  "Finding,  however,  that  we  came  to  a  precipice 
which  led  into  a  spacious  amphitheatre,  (if  1  may  so  call 
it,)  still  deeper  than  any  other  part,  we  returned,  and  be- 
ing provided  with  a  ladder,  flambeau,  and  other  things  to 
expedite'"  our  descent,  our  whole  company,  man  by  manv 
ventured  into  the  same  opening  ;  and  descending  one  aftief 


Chap.  3.  Ji)ji«caiptivE  Pieces.  lot 

another,  we  at  last  taw  ourselves  all  together  in  the  most' 
magniflcent  part  of  tiie  cavern." 

SECTION  IV. 

a  Glit-ter-ing,     glU'-l5r-lng,      bhiniiigl        sailor 


brightly 
h  Trans-pa-rent,  tr&n8-p4'-rSnt,  clear, 

translucent 
i  Col-uinn,  k6r-Ifim,  a  pillar,  file  of 

troopB 
d  Throne,  ihrAne,  the  seat  of  a  king 
0  Al-tar,  il'-tfir,  the  place  where  oifTcr 

ings  to  heaven  are  laid 
J  Re-ver-bor-a-tion,  r6-vSr-b£r-i'-shiin, 

iho  act  wf  driving  back,  or  sounding 

back 
g  Ven-ture,  vSn'-tshirc,  to  hazard,  a 

chance 
A  Mar-in-cr,  m&r'-rin&r,  a  ecaman,  a 


i  Ain  phi-lJie-a  tre,  fim-phi-flii'-i-tftr^ 
a  building  in  a  circular  or  oval  t(>m% 
having  itt  area  cncompaumHl  witi 
rows  of  seats  one  above  an«)ri)er 

j  Pres-sure,  prfish'-shiire,  force,  oppro^* 
BkOn 

/;  Crys-tal,kr1s'-tAl,  a  hard  pellucid  iitosf 

I  Egress,  e'-gr^s,  the  act  of  going  oxit' 

m  ln-scri|>-tiou,  !ii-»>kr!p'-Bhou,  tuin^- 
tliing  Written  or  engraved,  a  tilJe 

n  Ob-liter  ale,  6b-lU'-ter-riito,  to  cfTa^ 
blot  out 

o  Pen-c-tratc,  \tln' -nk-ukie^  to  pierce 
tlie  surface 


The  grotto  of  Antiparos^  continued, 

1.  "Our  candles  beine  now  all  lighted  upV  and  th« 
whole  place  completely  illuminated,  never  could  the  ey© 
be  presented  with  a  more  glitterinjj,«  or  a  more  magnificent 
scene.  The  whole  roof  hunewitli  solid  icicles,  transpar- 
ent* as  glass,  yet  solid  as  marble.  The  eye  could  scarcely 
reach  the  lofty  and  noble  ceiling  ;  the  sides  were  regularly 
formed  with  spars;  and  the  whole  presented  the  idea  of 
a  magnificent  tlieatre,  illuminated  with  an  immense  pro- 
fusion of  lights. 

2.  "  The  iloor  consisted  of  solid  marble  ;  and  in  several 
places,  magnificent  columns,*^  thrones,*'  altars,*  and  other 
objects,  appeared,  as  if  nature  had  designed  to  mock  the 
curiosities  of  art.  Our  voices,  upon  speaking  or  singing, 
were  redoubled  to  an  astonishing  loudness  ;  and  upon  thcJ 
firing  of  a  gun,  the  noise  and  tlie  reverberation^/"  wer^ 
almost  deafeninj^. 

3.  "  In  the  midst  of  this  grand  amphitheatre  rose  a 
concretion  of  about  fifteen  feet  hi^h,  that,  in  some  meats- 
lire,  resembled  an  altar  ;  from  which,  taking  the  hint,  we 
Oaused  mass  to  be  celebrated  there.  The  beautiful  co- 
Jumns  that  shot  up  round  the  altar,  appeared  like  <;aridK>- 
sticks ;  and  many  other  natural  objects  represented  tho 
customary  ornaments  of  this  rite. 

4.  *'  Below  even  this  spacious  grotto,  there  f^emed 
another  cavern  ;  down  "wliich  1  ventured^  with  my  form- 
er mariner,*  and  descended  about  fifty  paces  by  mean^  o 


IM  K.VOHSU  Ueader.  Fart  |. 

•  rope.  I  at  lust  arnvrd  at  a  smnll  spot  of  level  groiirtCk, 
^ber«  the  hollom  appeared  different  from  that  of  the 
amphitheatre,'  bein{r  eomposed  of  soft  clay,  yielding  to 
the  prc8sure,>  and  in  which  1  thrust  a  stick  to  the  depth 
of  nix  feet.  In  thi&,  however,  as  abpve,  numbers  of  the 
most  beautiful  crvstnls*  were  formed  ;  one  of  which,  par- 
ticularly, resembled  a  table. 

6.  ♦*  Upon  our  eg;ress'  from  this  amazing  cavern,  we 
.perceived  a  Greek  inscription'*  upon  a  rock  at  the  mouth, 
out  so  obliterated-  by  time,  that  >Ve  could  not  read  it 
distinctly.  It  seemed  to  import,  that  one  Antipater,  in 
the  time  of  Alexander,  had  come  hither ;  bu**  whether 
he  penetrated"  into  the  dtniths  of  the  cavern,  he  does  npt 
think  fit  to  inform  us." — This  account  of  so  beautiful  and 
striking  a  scene,  may  serve  to  give  us  some  idea  of  the 
subterraneous  wonders  of  nature.  goldsmith. 

SECTION  V. 

4  Ei  ten*!,  lkt<tSnd\  to  Btrotchout,en-]c  Pcr-lsh,p^r'-Jali,todie,to  be  destroy^ 
Jwge  \d  Prin-ci-pal,  prln'-si-pil,  chief,  cajji- 

¥  En-cue,  ln-tii%  IQ  follow,  pursue        |        tal 

Earthquake  at  Caianea, 

1.  One  of  the  earthouakes  most  particularly  describ- 
ed in  history,  is  that  wnich  happened  in  the  year  1693  ; 
the  damages  of  which  were  chiefly  feU  in  Sicily,  but  its 
•motion  was  perceived  in  Germany,  France,  and  England. 
it  cjftendeil**  to  a  circumference  o*f  two  thousand  six  hun- 
dred leagues  ;  chiefly  aflecting  the  sea  coasts,  and  great 
rivers ;  more  perceivable  also  upon  the  mountains  than 
in  the  valleys. 

2.  Its  motions  were  so  rapid,  that  persons  who  lay  ^t 
their  length,  were  tossed  from  side  to  side,  as  upon  a 
rolling  billow.  The  walls  were  dashed  from  their  foun- 
dations ;  and  no  fewer  than  fifty-four  cities,  with  an  in- 
credible number  of  villages,  were  either  destroyed  or 
greatly  damaged.  The  city  of  Catanea,  in.  particular, 
was  utterly  overthrown.  A  traveller  who  was  on  his  way 
thither,  perceived,  at  the  distance  of  some  miles,  a  black 
cloud,  liKe  night,  hanging  over  the  place. 

8.  The  sea,  all  oia  sudden,  began  to  roar;  mount 
^tna  to  send  forth  great  spires  of  flame  ;  and  soon  after 
M  shock  ^nsuedf^  with  a  noise  as  if  all  the  artillery  in  the 
world  ha'4  been  at  once  discharged.  Our  traveller  being 
•bilged  to  alight  instantly,  felt  himself  raised  a  foot  froijD 


Chrrp,  5,  Dr.scRiPTiVK  PfE(  3  10^ 

he  ground  ;  nnd  turning  hW  p''*^  U  •  Iho  city,  h«  with 
iinazemefitsaw  i),otliins  hula  tliH  k  do  dnf  niustin  the  air. 
4.  The  birds  llew  al)(>ut  iisrnr.i5lipd  .  thw  puii  was  dark- 
MK'd  ;  the  beasts  ran  howlinj;  fri»:n  Ih*-  hill?;  and  al- 
hoiigh  the  sliuck  did  not  .(:o:.»:,i:»we  ijkbt>vp  rhfpo.  minutes, 
,'(;t  near  nineteen  thouband  of  the  inpaS;»:in*s  of  tSicily 
)erished'^  in  the  ruins.  Catanea.  to  -iv;-.;<'h  r'\ty  the  de- 
icriber  was  travelling:;,  Heenihd  the  nrineir-ai*  s^-^-ne  of  ru- 
n  ;  its  place  only,  \vas  to  be  found  ;  ana  n'.)t  a  footstep 
■jf  its  fofini^r  magniricence  was  to  be  ae.en  reij^aining;. 

GOLDS&llTH. 

SF.CTiON    Vh 

I  Ex-ifi-tcjicfi,  ?g-»:ls'-t2ii$r,  xiatc  of  be  ]«»  A-liysa,  4J;>Ts',  ^fp'h  .vtitnoMt  !>otff»ia 

>  Sisj-nnI,  s!;,''-nAI,  cni'mcnt.  nieinornble'^  Cotiii  lo  iiiidcm.  k«'M'jn'-'^-iiAii«e,  form 
;  Pre  dps  tiiio,    pr^-dA^fi-iln,    to  docreel         of  fiifff.  r»»nrif!«  in^i  of  njrin 

h'fi^r.cliaiul  lA  Su-|>e  7i-«)yjr,  »«-j>^-r.c-Ar,  higher,  pre- 

i  \'oi(l,  v6ld,  vucuiil,  a  spHCO  I        ffrahJo 

Creation. 

1.  In  4hc  progress  of  the  Dinne  works  and  govern- 
lent,  tiiere  arrived  a  period,  in  wiiich  this  earth  was  to 
e  called  into  existence."  When  the.  signal^  moment,  pre- 
estined*"  from  all  eternit)',  was  come,  the  Drity  arose  in 
is  might  :  and  with  a  word  created  the  world.  What 
,n  illustrious  moment  Ts'as  that,  when,  from  non-exis- 
:euce,  there  sprang  at  ouice  into  being,  this  mighty  globo, 
►n  which  so  many  millions  of  creatures  now  dwell ! 

2.  No  preparatory  measures  were  required.  No  lonz 
jrcuit  of  means  was  employed.  "He  spake;  and  rt 
vas  done  :    he  commanded ;   and   it   stood    fast.      The 

♦;arth  was  at  first  without  form,  an<l  void  ;rf  and  darkness 
as  on  the  face  of  the  deep."  The  Almighty  surveyed 
;he  dark  abyss  ;'^  ami  fixed  i)ounds  to  the  several  divis- 
ors of  nature.     He  said,  "*■  Let  tliere  be  light;  and  there 

|was  lijcht." 

3.  Then  appeared  the  sen,  and  the*  dry  land.  Th/B 
mountains  rose  ;  and  the  rivers  flowed.  The  sun  anid 
inoon  began  their  course/  in  the  skies.  Herbs  and  plants 
clothed  the  ground.  The  air,  the  earth,  and  the  waters, 
W're  stored  with  their  respective  inhabitants.     At  last,, 

jinan  was  made  after  the  image  of  Ood. 

4.  He  appeared,  wallting  with  countenanceA' erect;  and 
■eceivcd   his   Creator's   benediction,  as  the  Lord   of  this 

m  norld.     The  Almignty  beheld  his  work  wh«n  It  was 


■rec 

r 


tw 


fCNGtt^H  Rea^I>ER» 


Port 


A 


ilnislied  ?  ^nd  jironounced  it  good.  Superfor*  beings  saw 
with  wonder  this  neAV  accession  to  existence.  "  Th^ 
morninff  stars  sang  together ;  and  all  the  sons  of  God* 
shouted  for  joy."  blair. 

SECTION  VII  i 


to  try 

i  Coin-pla-cen-cy,k6in-pl&'-s?n-$i,  pleai  f 
sure,  civility 

j  Af-fa  bil-i-ty,    Af-fi-Ml'-]^-ti,    easi- 
ness of  manners 

h  Op-press,  6p-pr§s',  to  crush,  overpow 
er 

I  In-ter-ces-sor,  In-tSr-sSs'-sBr,  media-' 
tor 

m  A-bode,  A-b6de',  place  of  residence 
did  abide 


a  Spec-u-la-tivc,  Bp?k'-kii-ltl-t!v,  theo- 
retical,'not  practical 

b  In-vet-er-ate,  ln-vSt'-lgr-&te,  old,  ob- 
stinate 

c  Re-side,  ri-zide',  to  live,  to  dwell 

d  Fountain,  fdun'-tin,  a  spring,  origi- 
nal 

e  Be-nig-ni-ty,  bfi-nlg'-n^-t^,  gracious- 
ness,  kindness 

/  Na-tive,  ni'-i^v,  natural,  original 

/r  Import,  lm-p6rt',  to  imply 

A  At-tcm])t,  &t-lgml',  an  attack,  essay, 

Charity* 

1.  Charity  is  the  same  with  benevolenc«  or  love  ;  and' 
is  the  term  uniformly  employed  in  the  New  Testament,' 
to  denote  all  the  good  aliections  whicli  we  oi]u;ht  to  bear 
towards  one  another.  It  consists  not  in  speculative"  ideas 
of  general  benevolence,  floating  in  the  head,  and  leaving 
the  heart  as  speculations  too  often  do,  untouched  and' 
cold.  Neither,  is  it  confined  to  that  indoh-nt  .  ood  nature, 
Which  makes  us  rest  satisfied  with  being  free  from  invet- 
erate* malice,  or  ill  will  to  our  fellow-creatures,  without 
prompting  us  to  be  of  service  to  unj. 

a.'  True  charity  is  an  active  principle.  It  is  not  prop- 
erly a  single  virtue  ;  hut  a  disposition  residing*^^  in  the 
heart,  as  a  fountain''  Avhenci  all  the  virtues  of  benignity,* 
candour,  forbearance,  generosity,  compassion,  and  liber- 
ality, flow,  as  so  many  native/  streams.  From  general 
good-will  to  all,  it  extends  its  influence  particularly  to 
t-hose  with  whom  we  stand  in  nearest  connexion,  and  ^vho 
Are  directly  within  the  sphere  of  our  good  ofliccs. 

S.  From  the  country  or  community  to  which  we  be- 
long, it  descends  to  the  smaller  associations  of  neighbour- 
hood, relations,  and  friends  ;  and  spreads  itself  over  the 
whole  circle  of  social  and  domestic  life.  I  mean  not  that 
it  imports?  a  promiscuous  undistinguished  affection,  which 
gives  every  man  an  equal  title  to  our  love.  Charity,  if 
we  should  endeavour  to  carry  it  so  far,  would  he  render- 
ed ar?  impracticable  virtue  ;  and  would  resolve  itselt  int« 
liiere  words,  ';Tith4)ut  affecting  the  heart. 


Chap,  ^  f)ESCRiPtiVK  Piece*  lit 

4.  True  charity  attempts*  not  to  shut  cur  eyes  to  th4j  . 
distinction  hetween  good  and  bad  men  ;  nor  to  warm  ouf 
hearts  equally  to  those  who  befriend,  and  those  who  injure 
us. — It  reserves  our  esteem  for  g;ood  men,  and  our  eom- 
placency  for  our  friends.  Towards  onr  enemies  it  in- 
spires forgiveness,  humarvHy,  and  a  PoHcitnde  for  their 
welfare.  It  breathes  universal  candwir,  and  libendity  of 
sentiment.  Ji  forms  gentleness  of  tempefr  and  dictates 
affability^  of  manners. 

5.  ft  prompts  corresponding  ?Tui]KithJ'es  with  them  who 
rejoice  and  them  who  wepp.  ]t  teaehea  us  to  slight  and 
despise  no  man.  Charitj-^  is  the  comforter  of  the  amictedv 
the  protector  of  the  o]^press«'d^,  tiie  reer)neiier  of  dif- 
ferences, the  intercessor'  for  oflenders.  It  is  fai-MU'ulnessr 
in  the  friend,  publick  spirit  in  the  magisti'ate,  equity  and 

{)atience  in  the  judge,  moderation  in  thti  sovereign,  and 
oyalty  m  the  subject. 

6.  fn  parents,  it  is  care  and  attention  ;  in  children,  it  is 
reverence  and  siibmission.  In  a  word,  it  is  the  soul  of 
social  life.  It  is  the  sun.  that  enlivens  and  cheers  the  a- 
bodfts*"  of  men.  It  is  *' hke  the  dew  of  Hermon,"  says 
the  J*salniist,  "  and  the  dew  that  descended  on  the  moun- 
liiins  of  /ion,  where  the  Lord  commandied  the  blessing, 
^ren  hfe  for  ever  more."  blair. 

SECTION  VIII. 

«.  Profl  por-i-ty,  pr6s-pfir'-i-t(^,  8UCco:»8;|//  Vii-i-:iic,     v!.s}r-^.-ite,    to    deprave, 

luck  spoil 

•  IW-doub-le,  rA-dftb'-bl,  to  make  dou- c  Fr»i  it-ion,     fru-T^h'-fin,     onjoymejii, 

ble  pu^•sl,•ssion 

»  Jan-tas-ti-cal,  fAri-tAs'.-l^-kAl,  iinag-i  /  Su^-K.-nauce,  sus'-li-ii&nso,  «»uppiMt, 

ifctry,  whimsical  victuals 

ProspevHy*  is  redouhled''  to  a  good  main, 

1.  None  but  the  ttniperate,  the  regular,  and  the  virtu^ 
ous,  know  tiow  to  enjoy  ]>rosperity.  They  bring  to  it» 
comforts  the  manly  relish  of  a  soimd  uncorru})ted  mind. 
They  stop  at  the  proper  point,  before  enjoyment  degen- 
erates into  disgust,  and  pleasure  is  converted  into  j)ain 
They  are  strangers  to  those  complamt"s  which  flow  from 
spleen,  caprice,  and  all  the  fantastical'-  distresses  of  a  vi- 
tiated'^ mind.  While  riotous  indulgence  enervates  boti 
the  body  and  the  mind,  purity  and  virtue  heighten  ailtht 
powers  of  human  fruition* 

2.  Feeble  are  all  the  pleasures  in  which  the  heart  ha.' 
no  shafts     The  s^liish  gratificatione-  of  the  bad,  are  hot' 


lie 


English  Keader. 


Fart  U 


narrow  In  their  circle,  and  Rhortin  their  dmauon.  But 
prosperity  is  redoubled  to  a  good  man,  by  his  generous 
use  of  it.  It  is  rellected  bacK  upon  him  trom  every  one 
Avhom  he  makes  happy.  In  tbe  intercourse  of  domestic 
affection,  in  the  attachment  of  friends,  the  gratitude  of 
dependents,  the  esteem  and  good-will  of  all  who  know 
him,  he  sees  blessings  miiltiplied  round  iiim  on  every 
side. 

5.  "When  the  ear  heard  me,  then  it  blessed  me  ;  and 
when  the  eye  saw  me,  it  gave  witness  to  me  :  because  I 
delivered  the  poor  that  cried,  tlie  fatherless,  and  him  that 
had  none  to  help  him.  The  blessing  of  him  that  was  rea- 
dy to  perish  came  upon  me,  and  1  caused  the  widow's 
heart  to  sing  with  jov.  I  was  eyes  to  the  blind,  and  fe€t 
was  I  to  the  lame*;  1  was  a  father  to  the  poor ;  and  tb« 
cause  which  1  knew  not  1  seavched  out.'* 

4.  Thus,  while  the  righteous  man  flourishes  like  a  tree 
planted  by  the  rivers  of  water,  he  brings  forth  also  hid  fi*uit 
in  Its  season ;  and  that  fruit  he  brings  forth,  not  for  him- 
self alone.  He  nourishes  not  like  a  tree  in  some  solitary 
desert,  which  scatters  its  blossoms  to  the  wind,  and  com- 
municates neither  fruit  nor  shade  to  any  living  thing  :  but 
like  a  tree  in  the  midst  of  an  inhabited  country,  which  to 
some  affords  friendly  shelter,  to  others  fruit ;  Avhich  is  not 
only  admired  by  ail  for  its  beauty ;  but  blessed  by  the 
traveller  for  the  shade^  and  by  the  hungry  for  the  susU?n- 
anc^  it  hath  given,.  blaiu. 


SECTION  IX. 


a  Ex-emp-tlon,  ?ijr-Jm'-shfin,  immuni- 
ty, freedom  from  imposts 

6In-val-u-a  b1e,ln-vir-u-jlL-bl)  precious, 
inestimable 
Phi-lo8-o-phy,  fi-I6s'-A-r^,  kpowledgn 
natural  or  moral 

d  E-mit,  i-mlt',  to  send  forth,  to  issue 

t  Ex-tract,  gks-trikt',  to  draw  out  of 


/  Pol-i-ticks,  pil'-li-llkg,  the  science  of 

•jovornmont 
o"  Un-ca-si-ness,  fin-i'-zA-nSs,    trouble, 

a  state  of  disquiet 
^  Mod  i-ta-tion,niAd-,i-t4'-Bhfin,tliought, 

coiit«;mplatioii 
i  Fful-isii,  rSl'leh,  ta»te,  Jikiiig,  deligfet, 
1        to  like 


On  the  beauties  of  the  Psalms, 
1.  Greatness  confers  no  exemption**  from  the  cares 
and  sorrows  of  life:  its  share  of  them  frenuently  bears 
a  melancholy  proportion  to  its  exaltation.  This  the  mo- 
narch of  Israel  experienced.  He  sought  in  niety,  that 
peace  which  he  could  not  find  in  empire  ;  and  alleviated 
the  disquietudes  of  state,  with  the  exercises  of  devotion. 
His  invaluable*  Psalms  convey  those  co'nA'rts  to  otheru. 
which  they  afforded  to  himsolV 


Chap.  &,  DKacBiPTivje  I'l^crA.  IIS 

2.  ComnoBod  ijnoii  particular  occasions,  yet  designed 
Tor  general  use  ;  clelivered  out  as  services  for  laraelitea 
under  the  Law,  yet  no  less  adapted  to  the  circumstance* 
[)f  Christians  under  t!ie  Gospel  ;  they  present  religion  to 
\lf^  }n  the  most  engag;inc  dress  ;  communicating  truths 
which  philosophy-^  coula  never  investigate,  in  a  style 
Hrhich  poetry  can  never  eqyal ;  while  history  is  made  the 
I'ehicle  of  propiiecy,  and  creation  lends  all  its  charms  to 
paint  the  glories  of  redemption. 

S.  Calculated  alike  to  profit  and  to  please,  they  inform 
Mie  understanding,  elevate  the  affections,  and  entertain 
^he  imagination.  Indited  under  the  influence  of  him,  to 
whom  aj)  hearts  are  known,  and  all  events  foreknown, 
they  suit  mankind  in  all  situations ;  grateful  as  the  man- 
ria  whicl)  descended  from  above,  ana  conformed  itself  to 
^very  palate. 

4.  The  fairest  productions  of  human  wit,  after  a  few 

ff»eru5als,  like  gatliered  flowers,  wither  in  our  hands,  and 
ose  their  fragrancy ;  hut  these  unfading  plants  of  Para- 
dise become,  as  we  are  accustomed  to  them,  still  more 
and  more  beautiful ;  their  bloom  appears  to  be  daily 
heightened  ;  fresh  odours  are  emitted,'^  and  new  sweets 
(extracted'  from  them.  He  who  has  once  tasted  their  ex- 
cellences, Vvill  desire  to  taste  them  again ;  and  he  who 
tastes  them  oftenest,  will  relish  them  best. 

5.  And  now,  could  the  author  iiL'tter  himself,  that  any 
pne  woujd  take  half  the  pleasure  in  reading  his  work, 
>vhich  he  has  taken  in  writing  it,  he  would  not  fear  the 
loss  of  his  labour.  The  employment  detached  him  from 
J:he  bustle  and  hurry  of  life,  the  din  of  poliJ..ics,/ and  the 
rioise  of  folly.  Vanity  and  vexation  flew  away  for  a  sea- 
iofi ;  eare  and  disquietude  came  not  near  his  dwelling. — 
He  arose,  fresh  as  the  morning,  to  his  task;  the  silence 
of  the  night  invited  him  to  pursue  it;  and  he  can  truly 
8ay,  that  food  and  rest  were  not  preferred  before  it. 

6.  Every  psalm  improved  infinitely  upon  his  ajirquaint- 
an.ce  with  it,  and  no  one  gave  him  uneasiness i'  but  the 
last :  for  then  he  grievfd  that  )iis  work  was  done.  Hap- 
pier hours  than  tiiose  which  have  been  spent  in  these 
meditations'*  on  the  songs  of  Sion,  he  never  expeicta  to 
see  in  this  world.  Very  pleasantly  did  they  pass ;  they 
moved  smoothly  and  swiftly  along  ;  for  when  thus  ^nga- 

f;ed,  he  counted,  no  time.  They  are  gpne,  hut  they  have 
eft  a  relish*  and  a  fragrance  upon  the  ^ind  ;  and  the  re» 
Q>4)mbrance  of  Uiena  is  sweet.  BOftVp* 


m 


SECTION  X. 


Part  t 


M  Blon-arch,  mifl'-nirk,  a  kin^,  a  sov-^ 

ereign 
b  An-nals,  4n'-n^Iz,   histories  digested 

in  tho  Older  of  time 
t  De-nom-i-na-lion,  de-n6ra-5-ni'-sh?in, 

title,  appellation 
d  De  liij-e-ate,  di-l?n'-i-ite,   to    paint 

describe 
A  Con-ciliate,  kon-sll'-yite,  to  gain  <»• 


rer,  reconcile 
/  Flex-i-bil-i-ty,  flSks-^-Ml'-i-t*,  plian-  . 

cy,  compliancG 
<r  Len-i-ty,  l^n'-^-t^,  mildness,  mercy, 

lendernew 
/i  De-port-ment, d4-pAit*-m5nt,  conduct, 

behaviour 
Trans-mit,   trin9-m!t',  to  send  from 

one  place  to  another 


Character  of  Alfred,  king  of  England. 

1.  The  merit  of  this  prince,  both  in  private  and  pub- 
fic  life,  may,  with  advantag;e,  be  set  in  opposition  to  that 
of  any  monarch'*  or  citizen,  which  the  annals''  of  any 
Rge,  or  any  nation,  can  present  to  us.  He  seems,  indeed, 
to  be  the  complete  model  of  that  perfect  character, 
-^hich,  under  the  denomination*^  of  a  sage  or  wise  mart, 
the  philosophers  have  been  fond  of  delineating,'^  rather  as 
n  fiction  of  their  imagination,  than  in  hopes  of  ever  see- 
ing it  reduced  to  practice  ;  so  happily  were  all  his  virtues 
tempered  together  ;  so  justly  were  they  blended  ;  and  so 
]i)owerfully  did  each  prevent  the  other  from  exceeding 
its  proper  bounds. 

2.  He  knew  hoW  to  conciliate*  the  most  enterprising 
spirit  with  the  coolest  moderation  ;  the  most  obstinate 
|)erseverance,  with  the  easiest  flexibility ;/ the  most  se- 
vere justice,  with  the  greatest  lenity  :s  the  greatest  rig- 
our in  command,  with  the  greatest  afiability  of  deport- 
ment ;*  the  highest  capacity  and  inclination  for  science, 
with  the  most  shining  talents  for  action. 

S.  Nature  also,  as  if  desirous  that  so  bright  a  produc- 
tion of  htT  sk?ll  should  be  set  in  the  fairest  light,  had  be- 
stowed on  him  all  bodily  accomplishments  :  vigour  of 
limbs,  dignity  of  shape  and  air,  and  a  pleasant,  engaging, 
and  open  countenance.  By  living  in  that  barbarous  'dsr,, 
he  was  deprived  of  historians  worthy  to  transrnit'  bis 
fame  to  posterity ;  and  we  wish  to  see  him  de'Jneated  in 
more  lively  colours,  and  with  more  particUiar  strokes^- 
that  we  might  at  least  perceive  some  of  thosr  small  specks 
And  blenrjshes,  from  which,  as  a  many  it  is  impossible  ht 
©ould  be  er>ti]^ely  exempted.  humev 


^^ap,   &,  DEBCRIPTiVB   PlEClSL  tH 


Cal-um-ny,  kif -Sm-nii,  Blantler,  fals4i 

charge 
U  n;ui-i-mons,  yii-nA.ii'-i-mu8,  being 

(•f  one  mind; 
Df  tract-or,  d6-trlLkl'-5r,  one  who  ca- 

iumniatei? 
Iii-vec-tive,  In-vSk'-tlv,  abusive,  sati 

rir.al 
Paii-e-gyr-ick,  pAn-ni-j^r'-rik,  an  eu- 

lof^y,  an  eiiconiiastick  |)iece 
An  i-mos-i-ty,   Aii-ii(!:-m6s'-s^-ti,   ve- 

ln'inence  of  liaireil 
Tr  iner-i-ly,   t6-nier'-i-t6,    rashness. 

fully 
Fr.i  -al-i-ty,  fnVcil'-A.-f^,  thrift,  good 

Jmsbundry,  saviogneua 


SECTION  XI. 

i  Av-a-rico,      &v'-A-rls,    coTetOBeneBB, 

niggardliness 

j  Sal-ly,  sil'-l^,  quick  egress,  flight 

k  Tol-er-a-tion,  t61-ar-4'-8hfin,  perrais^ 

,        sion 

7  Fac-tinn,  fik'-shfln,  n  party  in  a  staW  , 
Pru-dence,  pr55'-dSnse,  wisdoni  ap* 
plied  to  practice 

N  Gon-tro-vp*«-py,    k6n'-tr6-v8r-si,    dis- 
pute, quarrel 

0  Ap-plause,'  iu-pliwr.e',   approbatioflr 
loudly  expressed 

p  Ad-vance-mont,  Ad-v4nse'-m?rrt,   th» 
Slate  of  being  advanced 

q  Snr-iTxtnnt,  8ur-m6ikit.',  to  overcome,- 
surimsa 


Cltaracter  of  Queen  Elizabeth^ 

1.  There  are  few  porsonages  in  history,  \Vfio  havtf 
tM'ii  more  exposed  to  the  cainmny"  of  enemies,  and  thfe 
dulation  of  friends,  than  queen  Elizabeth  ;  and  yet  ther^ 
icarcely  is  any,  vihose  reputation  has  been  more  certaiti-*^ 
V  determined  by  the  unanimous*  consent  of  posterity.- 
hit;  unusual  length  of  her  administration,  and  the  strong! 
tatures  of  her  character,  were  able  to  overcome  all  pre- 
'idiees;  and,  oblij^nj:;  her  detractors*"  to  abate  mucli  of 
heir  invectives, rf  and  her  admirers  somewhat  of  their 
i.iiM  ;i;yncs,f  have,  at  last,  in  spite  of  political  factions, 
rid  what  is  more,  of  religious  animosities,/ produced  a 

juiiorm  judj^ment  with  regard  to  her  conduct. 

2.  Her  vigour,  her  constancy,  her  magnanimity,  her 
enetration,  vigilance,  and  address,  are  allowed  to  merit 
he  highest  prjiises ;  p.nd  appear  not  to  have  been  surpas- 
ed  bv  any  j)erson  who  ever  filled  a  throne  :  a  conduct 
i^ss  rigorous,  less  imperious,  more  sincere,  more  indul 
;ent  to  her  people,  would  hav^i  been  requisite  to  form  a 
>erfect  character.  By  the  force  of  her  mind,  she  con- 
rolled  all  her  more  active,  and  stronger  qualities ;  and 
»r«'Vf-nted  them  from  running  into^exce-ss. 

.  Jler  heroism  was  exempted  from  all  temerity  ;5^  her 
/  ;:ality,^'  from  avarice ;»  her  friendship  from  partiality; 
ler  enterprise  from  turbulency  and  a  vain  ambition.  Sn* 
guarded  not  herself,  with  equal  eare,^  or  equal  success^ 
rom  less  infirmities;  the  rivalship  of  beauty,  the  desire 
»f  admiration,  the  jealousy  of  love,  and  the  sallies-'  of  an- 

4»  Her  singular  talents  for  government,  were  founded 


'*^  English  Keader.  Part  1 1 

equally  on  her  temper  and  on  her  capacity.  Endowec 
with  a  great  eonnnand  over  herself,  she  soon  obtained  ar 
uncontrolled  ascendancy  over  the  people.  Few  sove- 
rei-ns  of  England  succeeded  to  the  throne  in  more  Jifli- 
cult  circumstances  ;  and  none  ever  conducted  the  govern. 
ment  with  so  uniform  success  and  fehcity. 

5.  Though  unacquainted  with  the  practice  of  tolera- 
tion,* the  true  seeiet  lor  managing  religious  lactions,/  sht 

^  preserved  her  people,  by  her  superior  prudence,-  from 
those  confusions  m  which  theological  controversy  had  in« 
volyed  all  the  neighbouring  nations  ;  and  though  her  en- 
emies  were  the  most  powerful  })rinces  of  Europe,  th« 
most  active,  the  most  enterprising,  the  least  scrupulous, 
she  was  able  by  her  vigour,  to  make  deep  impressions  on 
their  state  ;  her  own  greatne&s  meanwhile  remaining;  un- 
touched and  unimpaired. 

6.  The  wise  ministers  and-  brave  men  who  flourished 
during  her  reign,  share  the  praise  of  her  success  ;  but  in- 
stead  of  essening  the  applause^  due  to  her,  they  make 
great  addition  to  it.  They  owed  all  of  them,  their  ad- 
vancementi'  to  her  choice  ;  they  were  supported  by  her 
constancy  :  and,  with  all  their  ability,  they  were  never 
uDle  to  acquire  an  undue  ascendaiicy  over  her. 

7.  In  her  fiunily,  in  her  court,  in  her  kingdom,  she  re- 
mained  equally  n.istress.  The  force  of  the  tender  pas- 
sions w;^s  great  oyer  her,  but  the  force  of  her  mind  was 
still  superior  :  and  the  combat  which  her  victory  visibly 
cost  her,  serves  only  to  display  the  iirmness  of  her  reso- 
lution, and  the  loftiness  of  her  ambitious  sentiments. 

8.  Ihe  fame  of  this  princess,  though  it  has  surmount- 
ed7  the  prepidices  both  of  faction  and  of  bigotry,  yet  lies 
still  exposed  to  another  prejudice,  which  is  more  durable, 
because  more  natural  ;  and  which  according  to  tiie  diifer- 
ent  views  m  which  we  survey  her,  is  capable  either  of  ex- 
alting beyond  measure,  or  diminishing  the  lustre  of  her 
charactei  Ihis  prejudice  is  founded  on  the  considera- 
tion of  her  sex. 

9.  When  we  contemplate  her  as  a  woman,  we  are  apt 
to  be  struck  with  the  highest  admiration  of  her  quali- 
ties and  .extensive  capacity  ;  but  we  are  also  apt  to  re- 
quire  some  more  softness  of  disposition,  some  areater 
Jenity  of  temper,  some  of  those  amiable  weaknesses  by 
which  her  sex  is  distinguished.  But  the  true  method  ol 
^tiraatinc  her  merit,  is  to  lay  aside  all  the^je  considera- 
tionx   and  to  consider  her  merely  as  a    rational   beinjflb 


•ju:p.  b.  Ukscriptive   Piecks.  HT 

d  in  aiuhoi-ity,  and  intrusted  with  the  government  of 

,.iiid. 

SECTION  Xll. 


i-ence,  d5r-ftr-*nsc,    rcijard,  re 

1^0,  tlii-lift:.*.-',  to  reduce,  sink,  n- 

-  -^  kiliije,  Ik.w,  servile  civility 
--Ijrii'k 

r..r,  ler'-rfif,  great,  tear,  cause  ot 
r 
,,  dul,  si)l*»»'-<Jid,  sliowy,  lijagiit- 


fice*  It 
/•  De-iuio,  di-lAno',  to  withliold,  keep 
'      back 
«■  Dru(li.'«,  drMjc,   Co  labour  in  in«aii 

oir;c.;s 
A,  Tui!,  »'':l,  to  labour,  vreory 
i  Cius  u  d.-iy,  Uuh-ii  M-t*.  accident 

riuuA 


The  slaver  If  of  vice.  , 

1  Thf  slavery  produced  by  vice  appears  in  the  depon- 
lencc  under  which  it  brings  the  sinner,  to  circumstances 
.1  .xteinal  fortune.  One  of  tlie  favourite  characters  of 
ihrrtv,  is  tlu^.  independence  it  bestows.  He  who  is  truly 
,  Irrenian  is  above  all  servile  compliances,  and  abiect 
ul.j.'ction.  lie  is  able  to  rest  upon  himselt :  and  while 
„•  Vr-aids  his  superiors  witli  proper  delerenc*-,-  nf»t{ier 
Irba.es*  iiimself  by  cringin-  to  ttum,  nor  is  l*i"H»  ^^  t^ 
.uichase  their  favour  by  dislionouimble  means.  Uut  the 
inner  has  forhaed  every  privdege  (»f  this  nature. 

^.  iiis  passions  and  habits  render  him  an  absolute  de- 
IM.ulentoii  tbe  world,  and  the  world's  favour ;  on  the 
InRc^-tain  goods  of  fortune,  and  the  hckle  humours  of 
mm.  i^^M' it  is  by  these  he  subsists,  and  among  these  his 
happiness  is  sought ;  according  as  his  passions  <l^*tcr'^|ne 
1  ini  to  piu'Hue  pleasures,  riches,  ur  prelerments.  Ha^ng 
no  fund  within  himself  whence  to  draw  enioyment,  his 
only  resource  is  in  things  without.  His  hQpes  and  fears 
,m11  hang  ui)on  the  world.  He  partakes  in  all  its  vicissi- 
tudes ;^ina  is  moved  and  shaken  by  every  wind  of  for- 
tune.    This  :   *o  be,  in  tiie  strictest  sense,  a  slave  to  tne 

,s.  Religion  and  virtue,  on  the  other  hand,  confer  on 

tlu!  mind  principles  of  noble  independence.  -  Ihe  up- 
nj^ht  man  is  satisfied  from  himself."  He  de^spises  not 
the  advantages  of  fortune,  but  he  centres  not  his  happi- 
ness in  them.  With  a  moderate  share  ot  them  he  can  be 
contented ;  apd  contentment  is  felicity.  Happy  m  his 
our)  integrity,  conscious  of  the  esteem  of  good  men,  re- 
posing linn  trust  in  the  providence,  and  the  promise*  of 

-nh  he  is  exempted  from  servile  dependence  on  otHer 

-.mgs. 


IW  English  Keader.  Part  1 

4.  He  can  wrap  himself  up  in  a  gOi>d  conscience,  and 
look  forward,  without  terror,^  to  the  change  of  the  world. 
Let  all  things  shift  around  him  as  they  please,  he  be- 
lieves that,  by  the  IJivine  ordination,  they  shall  be  made 
to  work  together  in  the  issue  for  his  good  :  and  therefore, 
having  much  to  hope  from  God,  and  little  to  fear  from 
the  world,  he  can  be  easy  in  every  state.  One  who  pos- 
sesses within  Ijimself  such  an  establishraeiMt  of  mind,  h 
truly  free. 

^.  l>ut  shall  I  call  that  man  free,  who  has  nothing  that 
)s  his  own^no  property  assured  ;  whose  very  heart  is  not 
his  own,  but  rendered  the  appendage  of  external  things, 
and  the  sport  of  fortune?  Is  that  man  free,  let  his  out- 
ward condition  be  ever  so  splendid,^  whom  his  imperious 
passions  detain/  at  their  can,  whom  they  send  forth  at 
their  pleasure,  to  drudges  and  toil^'  and  to  beg  his  only 
enjoyment  from  the  casualties'  of  the  world  ? 

's/h  he  free,  who  must  bear  with  this  man's  caprice, 
and  that  man's  scorn  ;  must  profess  friendship  where  he 
hates,  and  respect  where  he  contemns  ;  who  is  not  at 
liberty  to  appear  in  his  own  colours,  nor  to  Sf>eak  his  own 
sentiments ;  who  dares  not  be  honest  lest  he  should  be 
poor ! 

7.  Believe  it,  no  chains  bind  so  hard,  no  fetters  are  so 
heavy,  as  those  which  fasten  the  corrupted  heart  to  this 
treacherous  world  ;  no  dependence  is  more  contemptible 
than  that  under  which  the  voluptuous, y  the  covetous,  or 
the  ambitious  man,  lies  to  the  means  of  pleasure,  gain;  or 
power.  Yet  this  is  the  boasted  liberty,  which  vice  pro- 
mises,  as  the  recompense  of  setting  us  free  from  tlic  sa- 
lutary restraints  of  virtue.  ulaiii. 

SECTION  XIII. 


a  De-lin-e-ate,  d^-11n'-6-iie,  to  design, 

paint,  tiescribe 
b  In-teg-ri-ty,    ?M-ieg'-gri-tt;,    honcety, 

purity,  intireness 
c  Un-fita-ble,  dn-sli'-bl,  not  fixed,  irrcs 

olute 


d  Prin-ci-j»l0,  pr!rt'-6&-pI,  element,  origi- 
nal cause 

e  Re-i>roiicli-ful,  r^-])ritsh'-ful,  oppra- 
brious,  sliaioel'ii! 

/  Tra-ducc,  tr4-dujie',  to  cahunniate 


The  man  of  integrity . 
1.  It  will  not  take  much  time  to  delineate*  the  charac 
ter  of  the  man  of  integrity,''  as  by  its  nature  it  is  a  plain 
one,  and  easily  under^stood.  iie  is  one,  who  makes  it 
his  constant  rule  to  follow  the  road  of  duty,  according; 
as  the  word  of  God,  and  the  voice  zl  hi.^  conscience, 


VAGp,    %  DESCRirxXVE  PIECES  119 

point  it  out  to  Wm.  He  is  not  guided  merely  by  alTecr 
tions,  which  may  sometimes  {^ive  the  colour  of  virtue  Lq 
a  loose  and  unstable^-  character. 

S.  The  upright  man  is  j^uideU  by  a  fixed  punciplc'  of 
mind  which  determines  him  to  esteem  nothing  hut  what 
is  honourable ;  and  to  abhor  wiiatever  is  base  or  imwor- 
tliy,  in  moral  conduct.  Hence  we  find  him  ever  the 
j  same  ;  at  all  times,  the  trusty  friend,  the  affectionate  re- 
!  lation,  the  eonscirntious  man  of  business,  the  p^ous  wor 
sliipper,  Ihe  public  spirited  citizen. 

3.  lie  asstunes  no  borrowed  appearance.  He  seeks  no 
mask  to  cover  him;  for  he  act*  no  studied  p^rt ;  but  he 
is  indeed  what  he  appears  to  be,  full  of  truth,  candour, 
.ind  humanit}^  In  all  his  pursuits,  he  knows  no  path  but 
tiu'  fair  and  clirect  one  ;  and  wpuld  much  rather  fail  of 
-uccess,  than  attain  it  by  reproachful*  means.  He  never 
r  liows  us  a  smiling  countenance,  while  he  meditates  evil- 
;i;:;iinst  us  in  his  iieart. 

4.  He  never  praises  us  among  our  friends;  and  then 
joins  in  tradijciiig/ us  among  our  enemies.  We  shall  ne- 
Vrr  find  one  part  of  his  character  at  variance  with  anoth- 
er. Jn  his  manners  he  is  simple  and  unaifected  ;  in  all 
his  proceiitiings,  open  and  consistent.  Ijlair. 

.•    SECTlOiN  XIV. 


a,  I*af4-sive,  pAs'-slv,  imrosisting,  siiffer- 

b  As-iJcnt,  4.<«-s?nt',  conwiit,  fljcrrecmcnt 
c  A  (lopt,  A  <lAj)t',  to  make   him  a  pon 

who  is  not  so  hy  birth,  to  pursue  a- 

iiy  particular  mnthcxi 
d  Dis-titi  guisji,  ins-iing'-gwlslj,  to  ri*ote, 

(iivide.,  discern 
c  Syc-o-phant,  elk'-A-fAnt,  a  flatterer 
/  Su-perm-duce,    Bu-pftr-!ij-d68e',    to 

bring  jn  as  an  addition 
ff  Ar-ro-g?;ncp,  ir'-r6-gin«se,  pride,  pre 

pumption,  conceit 
h  E-nier-gen-cy,  4-niSr'-jen-si,  any  gud- 

den  occosion 
t  Ease-uess,  bise'-tids,  meanness,  vile- 

ness 


j  U-ni-ver-sal,  yit-nh-yJ^f-akl,  general,' 
total 

k  Sub-stijnce,sfib'-fitAnse,  essential  part 

I  Re-lent,  re-l^nt',  to  soften,  grow  moist 

VI  De-moy-nour,  di-mi'-jiftr,  behaviour; 
deportment 

n  Cour-te-fiy,    kfir'-ti-si,    el<^ance  of 
manners 

o  Ad-min-is-ter,  4d-m!n'-Dl8-t5r,  to  give, 
supply 

p  Re-proof,  r^-prfiflr,  blame,  reprehen- 
sion 

q  In-quiR-i-tive-ly,ln-kw!z'-«4-tIv-li,  cu- 
riously, buFily  in  searph 

r  Ten-our,  Ie«'-n3r,  coHliouity,  general 
course 


Ge7illen€cs. 

1.  I    BKGiN    with  distinpjmshin-;  true  gentleness  from 

passive^  taraeness  of  spirit,  and  from  unlimited  comph 

Jince   with  the  manners  of  oth  ITS.     That   passive  tame 

ness,  which    submjt*?,  without   opposition,   to  every  en 


IM  Engmsh  Header.  Pitrt  I. 

croachmeiit  of  the  Tiolent  and  assuming,  forms  no  part 
of  Christian  duty  ;  hi't,  oa  the  contrary,  ig  destructive  of 
genera!  happiness  and  order.  Tliat  unlimited  compli- 
ance, whic^i  o«  every  occasion,  falls  in  n^ith  the  opinions 
and  manners  of  others,  is  so  far  from  being  a  virtue,  that 
it  is  itself  a  vice,  and  the  parent  of  many  vices. 

£.  It  overthrows  all  steadiness  of  principle  ;  and  pro- 
duces that  sinful  conformity  with  the  world,  which  taints 
the  whole  character.  In  tlie  present  corrupted  state  of 
human  manners,  always  to  assent'^  and  comply,  is  the  ve- 
ry worst  maxim  we  can  adopt.^  It  is  impossible  to  sup- 
port the  purity  and  dignity  of  Christian  morals,  without 
opposing  the  world  on  various  occasions,  even  though  we  , 
should  stand  alone. 

3.  That  gentleness  therefore  which  belongs  to  virtue, 
is  to  be  carefully  distinguished^  from  the  mean  spirit  of 
cowa«*ds,  and  the  fawning  assent  of  sycophants.'  It  re- 
nounces no  just  right  from  fear.  It  gives  up  no  impor- 
tant truth  from  flattery.  It  is  indeed  not  only  consistent 
with  a  firm  mind,  but  it  necessarily  requires  a  manly 
spirit,  and  a  fixed  principle,  in  order  to  give  it  any  real 
value.  Upon  this  solid  ground  o«ly,  the  polish  of  gentle- 
ness can  with  advantage  be  superinduced./ 

4.  It  stands  opposed,  not  to  the  most  determined  re- 
gard for  virtue  ana  truth,  but  to  harshness  and  severity,  to 
pride  and  arrogance,^  to  violence  and  oppression.  It  is 
properly,  that  part  of  the  great  virtue  oi  charitVf  which 
makes  us  unwilling  to  give  pain  to  any  of  our  brethren. 
Compassion  prompts  us  to  relieve  their  wants,  Forbear- 
anc«  prevents  us  from  retaliating  their  injuries.  Meekness 
restrains  our  angry  passions  ;  candour^  our  severe  judg- 
ments. 

5,  Gentleness  corrects  whatever  is  oRensiirc  in  our  man- 
ners ;  and,  by  a  constant  train  of  humane  attentions, 
studies  to  alleviate  tiie  burden  of  common  misery.  Its 
office,  therefore,  is  extensive.  It  is  not,  like  some  other 
virtues,  called  forth  only  on  particular  emerg^o<;ies  ;^  but 
it  is  continually  in  action,  when  we  are  enj'aged  in  inter- 
course with  men.  It  ought  to  form  our  address,  to  reg- 
ulate our  speech,  and  to  <liifuse  itself  ov?ir  our  wkoie  be- 
haviour, 

6,  We  must  not,  however,  confound  this  ^itie  **  wis- 
dom which  is  from  above,"  with  that  artificial  courtesy, 
that  studied  smoothness  of  manners,  which  is  learned  m 
tha  bchool  of  the   world.     Such  accomplishmeots,  the 


Chap,  5.  Descbiptivz  Pieces.  Ifl 

most  frivolous  and  emptv  may  possess.  Too  often  they 
are  employed  by  the  artrtil,  as  a  snare  ;  too  often  afTected 
by  the  hard  ana  unfeeling,  as  a  cover  to  the  baseness*  of 
their  minds.  We  cannot,  at  the  same  time,  avoid  ob- 
servinj;  the  homage,  Vtiiich  even  in  such  instances,  the 
world  is  const raiiitul  to  pay  to  virtue. 

7.  Id  ordi'.r  to  render  so'iiety  agreeable,  it  is  found  ne- 
-jessary  to  assume  somewhat,  that  may  at  least  carry  its 
iippearance.  Virtue  is  the  universal^  ch:irm.  Even  its 
tsjiadow  is  courted,  when  the  substance^-  is  Avanting;.  The 
imitation  of  its  form  has  been  reduced  into  an  art;  and, 
in  tiie  commerce  of  life,  th**  first  stiidy  of  all  who  would 
either  j:;;jiu  the  esteem,  or  win  the  hearts  of  others,  is  to 
learn  the  speech  and  to  adopt  the  manners,  of  candour, 
gentleness  :uu\  humanity. 

8.  r>ut  that  gentleness  which  is  the  characteristic  of  a 
cood  man,  has,  like  every  other  virtue,  its  seat  in  the 
heart;  and  let  me  add,  nothing  except  wiiat  flows  from 
the  henrt,  can  render  even  external  manners  truly  pleas- 
ing. For  no  assumed  behaviour  cap.  at  all  times  niae  the 
real  c!)aracter.  In  that  unaffected  civility  which  springs 
frjym  a  gePitlc  initid,  there  is  a  charm  infinitely  more  pow-» 
erful,  tlian  in  all  the  studied  manoers  of  the  most  finish- 
ed eo'.irti<u'. 

9.  True  gentleness  is  founded  on  a  sense  of  what  we 
owe  to  uiM  who  made  us,  and  to  the  common  nature  of 
\vhich  we  all  share.  It  arises  from  reflection  on  our  own 
failings  and  wants  ;  and  from  just  views  of  the  condition, 
and  the  dutv  of  man.  It  is*  native  feeling,  heightened 
and  improved  hy  pnnciple.  It  is  the  heart  which  easily 
relents;'  which  IVeis  for  every  thing  thatis  human  ;  and  is 
backwar'l  and  slow  to  inilicithe  least  wound. 

10.  It  is  allahle  in  its  nddresr,,  and  mild  in  its  demean- 
our;"' (;v»r  ready  to  ohlige,  a?id  willing  to  he  obliged  by 
othera;  hrei'tiiiug  liabitual  khidness  towords  fi'iends, 
courtesy"  to  strangers,  long- suffering  to  enemies.  It  ex- 
ercises authority  with  modrration ;  administers"  reproofs 
with  tenderness  ;  confer.^  favours  with  ease  and  modesty. 

■  It  is  unassuming  in  opinioni  and  temperate  in  zeal.  It 
Contends  not  eagerly  ahout  triiles  ;  slow  to  contradict,  and 
still  slower  to  bhuue ;  but  prompt  to  allay  dissension,  and 
to  resttu'e  peace. 

11.  It  neither  intermeddles  unnecessarily  ivith  the  af- 
fairs, nor  pries  inquisitively^  into  the  secrets  of  others* 
it  delights  above  aJl  things  to  alleviate  distress ;  and,  ifii 


IfS  English  Reader.  Part  1. 

cannot  dry  np  the  falling  tear,  to  sooth  at  least  the  <^evin^ 
heart.  Where  it  has  not  the  power  of  being  usetul,  it  is 
never  burdensome.  It  seeks  to  please,  rather  than  to 
thine  and  day.zle  ;  and  conceals  witli  care  that  superiority, 
either  of  ^aleats  or  of  rank,  Avhich  is  oppressive  to  those 
M'ho  are  beneath  it. 

IS.  in  a  word,  it  is  that  spirit  and  thattenonr*-  of  man- 
ners, which  the  gospel  of  Christ  enjoins,  when  it  com- 
mands us,  '*  to  !)earone  another's  biu'dens  ;  to  rejoice  with 
those  who  rejoice,  and  to  weep  with  those  who  weep  :  to 
phrase  every  "one  his  neighbour  for  his  good  ;  to  be  kind 
and  tender-hearted  ;  to  be  }>itifal  and  courteous;  to  sup- 
port the  weak,  and  to  be  patient  towards  all  men.** 


CHAPTER  VI. 

iaatlictic  Settees. 


SECTION  I 

m  A«-ea-»a-tion,    Ak-kb-zV-sh&n,    the 

art  of  accuHJnff 
k  Ba-giic-i-ty,  8A-gi\s'-4-t4,  quickness  of 

ec«nt,  ncutoness 
t  At-tain-der,  St-tine'-dftr,  the  act  of 

nttninin^  in  law 
d  Im-mi-ncnt,  !m'-mi-nfint,  inapending. 


at  hand,  threateninjr 
e  Re  Inc-tant,    r^-lfik'-iAnt,    unwilling, 

averse  to 
/  Surtfiense,    Bft*-p?n8e',   uncertainty, 

delay 
IT  Ma^  na-nimi-ty,    mAg-n4-n!m'-6-t«, 

greatness  of  mind 


Trial  and  execution  of  the  Earl  0/  Strafford,  who  fell  a 
sacrifice  to  the  violence  of  the  tinus^  in  the  reign  oj 
CuARLKS  the  First. 

1.  1  HE  Earl  of  Strafford  defended  himself  ag;a!nsl 
the  accusations«  of  the  house  of  Commons,  with  all  the 
presence  of  mind,  jud{;meni,  and  sagacity,*  that  could  be 
expected  from  innocence  and  ability.  His  children  were 
placed  beside  him,  as  he  was  thus  defending  his  life,  and 
the  eausc  of  his  royal  master.  After  he  had,  in  a  lon^ 
and  eloquent  speech,  deliveref*  without  premeditation, 
confuted  all  the  accusations  of  iiis  enemies,  he  thus  drew 
io  a  conclttsion. 
S. .  **  fcut,  my  Mrds,  I  have  troubled  yo«  too  long  :  Ion 


Chap.  6.  Tatiikti-c  Tieces.  ♦.  \Si,\ 

^er  than  I  should  have  done,  hut  for  the  saire  of  these 
dear  pledges,  which  a  saint  in  heaven  has  h^.ft  me."  Up- 
on this  he  paused ;  droppe^l  a  tear ;  looked  upon  his 
■children  ;  and  proceeded.  "  What  I  forfeit  .'"or  mysilf  is 
a  trifle  :  that  niv  indiscrt^lions  should  reach  my  posterity 
wounds  me  to  tlie  heart. 

3.  "  Pardon  my  infirmity. — Something  f  shoidd  have 
added,  hut  I  am  not  ahle  ;  and  therefore  1  let  it  pass. — 
And  now,  my  lords,  for  myself.  1  liavc  lonj;  been  taught, 
that  the  alHictions  of  this  life  are  overpf.id  by  tiiat  eter- 
Ral  weight  of  glory,  which  awaits  the  innocent.  And  so, 
my  lords,  even  so,  with  the  utmost  tran(|iji!lity,  1  sub- 
mit myself  to  your  jud:]:ment,  whether  that  judjrment  be 
hife  or  death  ;  not  my  ^vill,  but  thine,  O  God,  be  done  !'* 

4.  His  eloquence;  and  innoct-nce  induced  those  judges 
to  pity,  who  were  the  most  zealous  to  condemn  nim. — 
The  king  himself  went  to  the  house  of  b^rds,  and  spoke 
for  some  time  in  his  defence  ;  but  the  spirit  of  vengeance, 
which  had  h<'en  chamed  for  eleven  years,  was  now  rous- 
ed ;  and  nothing  but  h^s  blood  could  jrive  the  peojile  sat- 
isfaction. He  was  c<»ndemn«:d  by  both  bouses  of  parlia- 
ment; and  nothing  remained  but'i'or  the  king  to  give  his 
consent  to  the  billof  attaindef.c 

5.  But  in  the  present  c/>mmotions,  the  consent  of  the 
king  would  very  easily  be  dispensed  witii  ;  and  imminent'^ 
danger  mi^ht  attend  iiis  refusal,  (/harles,  however,  who 
loved  Stratford  ten(ierly,  hesitated,  and  seemed  reluctant;* 
trying  ev(M'y  expedient  to  put  oirs(»  dreadful  an  ofrice,  as 
that  of  signing  the  'warrant  for  his  execution.  AViiile  he 
continued  in  this  agitation  of  mind,  and  state  of  sus- 
pense/his doul>ts  were  at  last  silenced  by  an  act  of  great 
magaanuTiity^  in  the  condemned  lord. 

6.  He  rec<iived  a  letter  from  that  unfortunate  nobleman, 
desiring  that  his  life  mi^ht  ha  made  a  sacrifice  to  obtain 
reconciliation  betWMuni  tne  king  and  his  people  :  adding, 
diat  he  was  prepared  to  die  ;  and  that  to  a  ^viiling  mind 
there  could  be  no  injury.  Tl'is  instance  of  noble  gen- 
erosity was  hut  ill  repaid  by  his  mast-er,  who  comnlied 
with  fiis  request.  He  consented  to  sign  the  fatal  biil  by 
commission  ;  and  Stniflbrd  was  beheaded  on  Tower-hili; 
behaving  ^vitli  all  that  composed  dignity  of  resolutioD, 
which  was  expedeii  froiii  his  cluLracter.        holdsui'vu* 


IS4  English  Header  Fart  1 

SECTION  II. 


m  IJ«n-e'fac-tor,  b?n-A-f}Vk'-tfir,  he  that 
confers  a  benefit 

h  Con-siiio-u-ou8,  k6n'sp!k'-ii-fi«,  obvi- 
ous, cn.in<!n'i,  easily  sen 

c  Mission,  lulsh'-fin,  commission,  of- 
fice 

d  Epli  e-6us,  Sf-ft-sfis,  a  city  of  .Toni.'i, 
built  as  Justin  mentions,  by  the  A- 


mazons,  or  by  Androchui 
e  Pa-thet-ick,  p4-ihfit'-t!k,  moving;,  »f- 

fecting  the  passions,  passionate 
/  Cir-cuin-stance,  e^'-kfim-BtAnge,  in- 
cident, event 
cr  De-jec-tion,  d^-jSk'-shfin,  melancho- 
ly    ,      • 


An  eminent  instance  of  true  fortitude* 

1.  All  who  have  been  distinguished  as  servants  of 
God,  or  benefactors'*  of  men  ;  all  who,  in  perilous  situa- 
ations,  have  acted  their  part  with  such  honour  as  to  ren- 
der their  names  illustrious  through  succeeding  ages,  have 
Wen  eminent  for  fortitude  of  mind.  Of  this  we  have  j 
one  conspicuous*  example  in  the  apostle  Paul,  whom  it  will 
be  instructive  for  us  to  view  in  a  remarkable  occurrence 
of  his  life.  After  having  long  acted  as  the  apostle  of  the 
Gentiles,  his  mission  called  him  to  go  to  Jerusalem,  where 
he  knew  that  he  was  to  encounter  th:i  utmost  violence  of 
his  enemies. 

2.  Just  before  he  set  sail,  he  called  together  the  elders 
of  his  favourite  church  at  Ephesus  ;<'  and  in  a  pathetic* 
speech,  which  does  {jreat  honour  to  his  character,  gave 
tfiem  his  last  farewell.  Deeply  affected  by  their  know- 
ledge of  the  certain  dangers  to  which  he  was  exposing 
himself,  all  the  assembly  were  filled,  with  distress,  and 
melted  into  tears. 

3.  The  circumstances./"  were  such,  as  might  have  con- 
veyed dejection?  in  a  resolute  mind  ;  and  would  have  to- 
tally overwhelmed  the  feeble.  "  They  all  wej)t  sore,  and 
fell  on  Faul's  neck,  and  kissed  him;  sorrowing  most  of 
all  for  the  words  which  he  spoke,  that  they  should  see 
his  face  no  more." — What  were  then  the  sentiments, 
what  was  the  language,  of  this  great  and  good  man  ? — 
Hear  the  words  which  spoke  his  firm  and  undaunted 
mind. 

4.  "  Behold,  I  go  bound  in  the  spirit,  to  Jerusalem, 
not  knowing  the  things  that  shall  befall  me  there ;  save 
that  the  Holy  Spirit  witnesseth  in  every  city,  saying, 
that  bonds  and  afflictions  abide  me.  hut  none  of  those 
things  move  me  ;  neither  count  I  my  life  dear  to  mv-, 
self  so  that  I  might  finish  my  course  with  Joy,  and  the 
ministry  vrhich  1  n-dve  received  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  to  tes- 
lify  the  gospel  of  the  grace  of  God." 


Okap.  t.  Pathetic  Piecxs.  It4 

5.  There  was  uttered  the  voice,  there  byathed  th» 
spiritf  of  a  brave  and  a  virtuous  man.  Such  a  man  know* 
not  what  it  is  to  shrink  from  dan«^er,  when  conscience 
points  out  his  path.  In  that  ])ath  he  is  determined  tti 
walk,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they  may.  Thiswaa 
the  magnanimous  beliaviour  of  that  great  apostle,  whea 
he  had  persecution  and  distress  full  in  >iew. 

6.  Attend  now  to  the  sentiments  of  the  same  excellent 
man,  when  the  time  of  his  last  sutVerinjj  approached  ;  arid 
remark  the  mnjesty,  and  the  ease,  wilii  which  he.  looked 
on  death.  *'  lam  now  ready  to  he  oilered,  and  the  time, 
of  my  departure  is  at  hand.  1  have  fou^rht  the  good  fighi. 
1  have  fmished  my  course.  1  have  kcjU  the  faith. — 
Hencefortii  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  righteous- 
ness.'*"' 

7.  How  many  years  of  life  does  such  a  dying  moment 
overbalance  ?  Who  would  not  choo.se,  in  tliss  manner,  \u 
go  oft'  the  stage,  with  such  a  song  of  trlumj)h  in  his  mouth, 
rather  than  jMolonj^  his  existence  through  a  wretched  oltl 
age,  stained  with  sin  and  siianie  ?  blaik.. 

SECTION  III. 

<  Dis-mny,  (Hz  m.V,  fall  of  courage,  fill*;  I'l-ous,  ()1    's,  careful  of  tli«»   dutieii 

ffrriiy  owitti  to  <»..(! 

b  Siuic-tii-a-ry,  silnjk'-t«l>ii-4-ni,  a  holj  <i  Be  reave,  Li-itvc',  tomrjpof,  depriv* 

place.,  an  asylum  ,|        of 

The  good  man's  ewiifort  in  ojffliciion, 
1.  The  religion  of  Christ  not  only  arms  us  with  for- 
titude against  tiie  approach  of  evil  ;  UU,  supj)osing  eviU 
to  fall  upon  us  with  tlieir  heaviest  ])res»ure,  it  lightens  the 
load  by  many  consolations  to  whicii  others  are  strangers. 
While  bad  men  trace,  in  the  calaniititis  witii  which  they 
are  visited,  the  hand  of  an  oih«nded  sovereign,  (Christians 
are  taught  to  view  them  as  tiie  well-intended  chastise- 
ments of  a  merciful  F'ajher. 

They  hear  amidst  them,  that  still  voice  which  a  good 
conscience  brinp  to  their  ear  :  *'  Fear  not,  fov  I  am  with 
thee;  be  not  dismayed,'^  for  1  am  thy  Cod."  They  ap 
ply  to  themselves  the  comfortable  p;*omises  with  whicU 
the  Gospe!  abounds.  They  discover  in  these  tlie  happy 
issue  decreed  to  th^-ir  troubles  ;  and  v.ait  witli  patienctt 
till  Providence  shall  have  accomplished  its  great  and  good 
designs. 

S.  In  the  m»an  time.  Devotion  opens  to  them  its  bieiH 
L  £ 


/  E-vtic-u-aie,  i-v4;i'-u-4re,   to   n:ak<i 

empty,  to  quiet 
g  Ilc-]:'cn-i!>h,   vk  pI3ii'-n?Hh,  to  ttock^ 

ro  fill  'i 

/i  Fii-iTi-tive,  f/i'-j^-llv,  flyinp.   rtinniiiw 
Aiiii-^bx,  aperaicih  i-muiing  iVoia 


1^  ErfQLisn  llBAD^a.  /\7rf«  i. 

w^l  and  hrtly  s 'nctuc-iry  :&  that  sanctimry  h\  which  the 
wound^id  he'iit  is  healed,  and  the  weary  mind  is  at  rest!; 
whpre  the  cares  of  thf  world  ^ire  for^;Btteii,  where  it&  tuu- 
mvdts  are  hushed,  and  Its  miseries  dlsapjiear ;  where 
greater  ohjeets  open  to  our  view  than  any  whieh  the 
workl  presents  ;  where  a  more  serene  sky  chines,  and'  a 
svveeter  and  cahner  lit^ht,  heains  on  rii€  al.licted  heart. 

4.  In  those  monimts  of  devotion,  a  pious''  m?in,  pour- 
ing out  his  wants  and  sorrows  to  an  Alnii^hty  S^^uppovter. 
iee!s  that  he  is  not  left  solitary  and  forsaken,  in  a  vaie  of 
wo.  (rod  is  with  him  ;  Christ  and  tlie  Holy  Spirit  are 
with  him;  and  t'non^^h  he  shonhl  l)e  Inn'eaved/  of  every 
friend  on  earth,  h.e  can  look  up  in  heaven  toa  Friend  that 
will  iievt.T  de.-,oil  jiim.  liLAiii. 

Si:CTK)N  IV 

A  A-voi(l,  i-vdW,  to  escapo,  to.  sJiuii 
h  lio.*->i  Lute,    2.-j'-i6-iute,  loriiiikcM,  in 

want  of 
c  Pai-fx-bl^,  pftr'-rft-W,  a  s'nnilitufle 
d  Ao-cei-LT-ate,  iik-jifii'-lfir  ^to,  to  lias 

tfcij.  quickt'n  m;i:i.tn 
«  DiB-con-so-!aie,dl3-U6ii'-p6-liie,  with- j        d 

out  coiufoii,  surrowlul  i 

The  close  of  life, 

1.  When  we  conteiriplate  the  close  of  ii^'e  ;  the  ter- 
mination of  man's  designs  and  hopes  ;  the"  silence  that 
now  reigns  iimon;^  those  who,  a  little  while  ago,  were  so 
busy,  or  so  gay ;  who  can  avoid'^  bein^  touched  with  sen- 
sations at  once  awful  and  tender?  What  heart  hut  then 
>var.iKs  with  the  ^low  of  humanity?  In  whose  eye  does 
not  the  tear  gather,  on  revolving  the  fate  of  passing  and 
short  lived  man  ? 

£.  l^ehoUl  the  poor  man  who  lays  down  at  last  the 
harden  of  his  wearisome  life.  No  more,  siiall  he  groaa 
imder  the  l-oad  of  poverty  and  toil.  No  more  shall  he 
■  hear  the  insolent  calls  of  the  master,  from  Viliom  he  re- 
ceived his  scanty  waj^es.  No  more  shall  he  he  raised 
from  needful  slum})er  on  his  bed  of  straw,  nor  he  hurried 
away  from  his  homely  meal,  to  undergo  the  repeated  la- 
bours of  the  day. 

5.  While  his  mmiblo  grave  is  preparing,  and  a  few  poor  \ 
and  decayed  neighhOurs  are  carrymg  hnn  thither,  it  it  j 
f;ood  lor  us  to  th'mk,  that  this  man  too  was  our  brother;  1 
fiuit  for  him  the  ti'^ed  and  tlie  dcstitiito^  wife    and  the  1 


I 


Chap,  6.  Pathetic  Pieces.  !1? 

needy  children,  now  weep  ;  that,  neglected  as  he  was  by 
the  world,  he  possessed,  perhaps,  both  a  sound  under- 
standing, and  a  worthy  heart ;  and  is  now  carried  by  an* 
gels  to  rest  in  Abraham's  bosom. 

4.  At  no  great  distance  from  him,  the  grave  is  opened 
to  receive  the  rich  and  proud  man.  For,  as  it  is  said 
witli  emphasis  in  the  parable,*^  "  the  rich  man  also  died, 
-md  was  buried."     lie  also  died.     His  riches  prevented 

his  sharinj^  the  same  fate  with  the  poor  man  ;  per- 
haps, through  luxury,  they  accelerated"^  his  doom.  Then, 
indeed,  *'  tlie  mourners  go  about  the  streets  ;"  and,  while, 
in  all  the  pomp  and  magnificence  of  wo,  his  funeral  ia 
prer)aring,  his  heirs,  impatient  to  examine  his  will,  ar« 
looking  on  one  another  svith  jealous  eyes,  and  already 
beginning  to  dispute  about  the  division  of  his  substance. 

5.  One  day,  we  see  carried  along,  the  coffin  of  tho 
smiling  infant;  the  flower  just  ninped  as  it  began  to  blos- 
som in  the  parent's  view :  and  tne  next  day,  we  behold 
the  young  man,  or  young  woman,  of  blooming  form  and 
Promising  hopes,  laid  in  an  untimely  grave.     While  the 

uneral  is  attended  by  a  numerous  unconcerned  company, 
who  are  discoursing  to  one  another  about  the  news  of  tno 
day,  or  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life,  let  our  thoughts  rath- 
er follow  to  the  house  of  mourning,  and  represent  to 
themselves  what  is  passing  there. 

6.  There  we  should  see  a  disconsolate'  f  mily,  sitting  in 
silent  grief,  thinking  of  the  sad  breach  that  is  made  in 
their  little  society  ;  and  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  looking  to 
the  chamber  that  is  now  left  vacant,  and  to  every  memo- 
rial that  presents  itself  of  their  departed  friend.  By  such 
attention  to  the  woes  of  others,  the  selfish  tnirdness  of 
our  hearts  will  be  gradually  softened,  and  melted  dowa 
into  humanity. 

7.  Another  day,  we  follow  to  the  grave,  one  who,  in 
old  age,  and  after  a  long  career  of  life,  has  in  full  matur- 
ity sunk  at  last  into  rest.  An  we  are  gi)ing  along  to  thit 
mansion  of  the  dead,  it  is  natural  for  us  to  think,  and  t<» 
discourse,  of  all  the  changes  which  such  a  person  has  seer 
durin;;  the  course  of  his  rife.  He  has  passed,  it  is  likely 
through  varieties  of  fortune.  He  has  experienced  pros 
perit3%  ^"^  adversity.  He  has  seen  families  and  kindredi 
rise  and  fall.  He  has  st.en  peace  and  war  succeeding  in 
their  turns ;  the  face  of  his  country  undergoing  many  aU  - 
terations  ;  and  the  vei-y  city  in  which  he  dwelt,  rising,  ilk 
in  a  manner  new  around  him 


Ili  English  Reader.  Part  I 

8.  After  all  he  has  heheld,  his  eyes  are  now  closed  for- 
ever. He  was  becoming  a  stranj^er  in  the  midst  of  a  new 
succession  of  men.  A  race  who  knew  him  not,  had  arisen 
to  fill  the  earth. — Thus  passes  the  world  away.  Through- 
out all  ranks  and  conditions,  '  one  generation  passeth,  and 
another  generation  cometh  ;'  and  this  great  inn  is  by  turns 
evacuateii/ and  replenished,^  by  troops  of  succeeding  }>il- 
grims. 

9.  O  vain  and  inconstant  world  !  O  fleeting  and  tran- 
sient life  !  When  will  the  sons  of  men  learn  to  think  ot 
thee  as  they  ought?  When  will  they  learn  humanity 
from  the  afflictions  of  their  brethren  ;  or  moderation  and 
wisdom,  from  the  sense  of  their  own  fugitive^'  state  ? 

BLAIR. 

SECTION  V. 

a  En-hance,  Jn-h&nse',  to  advaiv^e  in 

priro,  a{:{,'ravate 
b  Pol-lute,  p61-l/iie',  to  defile,  taint 
c  Sen-si-bil-i-ty,  s^n-s^-bil'-i-t^,  quick 


iiess  of  sensation 
d  Rev-olu-tjoii,  iftv  vA-iiV-shfin,  change 
ill  the  state  of  goveiiirnent,  rolation, 
j{-turniug  uioIi;ju 


JUxalted  society^  and  the  reneival  of  virtuous  connexions,  two 
sources  of  future  felicity. 

1.  I'ksides  the  felicity  which  springs  from  perfect  love, 
there  are  two  circumstances  which  particularly  enhance'* 
the  blessedness  of  that  *'  multitude  who  stand  before  the 
throne;"  these  are,  access  to  tliemost  exalted  society,  and 
renewal  of  the  most  tender  connexions.  Tiie  former  is 
pointed  out  in  the  Scrip^ire,  by  "joining  the  innumerables 
company  of  angels,  and  the  general  assembly  and  church 
of  the  first-born  ;  by  sitting  down  with  Abraham.,  and  I- 
saac,  and  Jacob,  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven;"  a  promise 
which  opens  the  sublimest  prospects  to  the  human  mind. 

2.  It  allows  good  men  to  entertain  the  hope,  that,  sep- 
arated from  all  the  drees  of  the  liuman  mass,  from  that 
mixed  and  polluted''  crowd  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
now  dwell,  they  shall  be  permitted  to  mingle  with  proph- 
ets, patriarchs,  and  apostles,  with  all  those  great  and 
illustrious  spirits,  who  have  slione  in  former  agt;s  as  the 
strrvantsof  God,  orthc*  benefactors  of  men  ;  whose  deeds 
we  are  accustomed  to  celebrate ;  whose  steps  we  now 
follow  at  a  distance ;  and  Ydiose»names  we  pronounce  with 
veneration. 

S.  United  to  this  high  assembly,  the  blessed  at  the  sama 
tin:i«,  renew  tliose  ancient  connexions  with  virtucms  frkuda, 


Vfutp*  «b  Pathetic  Pibcks*  IS% 

which  had  been  <H»6olvedby  death.  The  prospect  otthh 
awakens  in  the  hrart,  the  most  pleasing  and  tender  sen- 
timent  tiiiit  periiaps  can  iill  it  in  this  mortal  state.  Fur 
of  all  the  sorrows  which  we  are  here  doomed  to  endure, 
none  is  so  hitter  as  that  occasioned  by  the  fatal  stroke 
which  separates  us  in  appearance  for  ever,  from  those  to 
whom  either  nature  or  friendship  had  intimately  joined 
our  heartfl. 

4.  Memory  from  time  to  time,  renews  the  anguish  , 
opens  the  wound  which  seemed  once  to  have  been  closed; 
and  by  recalling  joys  that  are  past  and  gone,  touches 
every  spring  of  painful  sensibinty.*^  In  these  agonizing 
mon.ents,  how  relieving  the  thought,  that  the  separation 
is  only  temporary,  not  eternal  ;  that  there  is  a  time  to 
come  of  re-union  with  those  with  whom  our  happiest 
days  were  sjient :  whose  joys  and  sorrows  once  were 
ours  ;  l^•hose  piety  and  virtue  cheered  and  encouraged  us ; 
and  from  whom  after  we  shall  have  landed  on  the  })eace- 
ful  shore  tvhere  they  dwell,  no  revolutions'^  of  nature  shall 
ever  be  able  to  part  us  more  !  Such  is  the  society  of  th« 
blessed  above.  Of  such  are  the  multitude  composed, 
who  **  stand  before  the  throne."  blair. 


SECTION  VI 

m  Clem-en-cy,  kl^nj'-min-si,  mercy,  re- 
mission of  stvcriiy 

i  Pa-tri-arch,  pA.'-tr^-irk,  th«  faiher  an'' 
rulnr  of  a  t'amily 

w  Fot-i-phar,  pil'-li-ffir,  a  captain  gen 
eral  of  the  forcts  of  Egypt  uiidei 
Pharaoh 

d  Fi-del-i-ty,  f^d^l-i-t*,  faithful  adhe- 
rence 

«  Re-siwt,  r*-z!«t',  to  oppose,  withstand 

/  Ar-ti-rice,  Ir'-i^-fls,  trick,  s'ratagtn 

jr  Im-pen-ding,  Im-pfiu'-dlng,  hanging 
over 

A  Kar-ra-tion,  n4r-ri.'-6hriU,  relaiiou. 
history 

i  In-ci-drnt,  1n'-6^-d^nr,  casualty,  even; 

j  For-eign,  f6r'-r!ii,  not  uontoslick,  al- 
ien 


k  Con-ccal-mcnt,  k6n-BiIe'-fnlnt,  aet  of 

hiding,  secrircy 
/  Ef-fu-sion,  4f-f6'-zhfin,  a  pouring  out, 

waste 
m  Yearn,  yirn,  to^el  great   internal 

uneasiuesti,  to  be  movod 
n  E-nio-tion,  4^-in6'-sh&n,  disturbance  of 

mind 
0  Ex-prcB-sive,  ?kB-pr5s'-slv,  having  th« 

p<i\ver  of  utterance,  or  representa 

tjon 
p  S^ize,  K^ze,  to  grasp,  take  forcibly 
7  Char-ac-te-ris-ti-cal,  k4r-Ak-ii-r!i-lA« 

k4l,  c-onstiiutiiig  ilic  character 
)•  0-ver-\vheI-miiig,   A-vfir-kwSl'-mlnff, 

ciutihing  UMd»;riieath  Eomelhing  vi- 
olent and  weighty 


The  cleviency  and  amiable  character  of  the  patriarch 
Joseph. 

1.  No  human  character  exhibited  in  the  records  of 
Scripture,  is  more  remarkable  and  instructive  than  that 
of  the  patriarch^  Joseph.     He  is  one  whom  we  behold 


iSO  £rv6LieH  Ke^DEH.  Pari  t 

ir\e6.  m  ntt  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  :  fhom  the  condi- 
tion of  a  slave,  rising  to  he  ruler  of  the  huid  of  Etjvpt ; 
and  in  every  station  acquiring,  hv  his  virtue  and  wisdom, 
favour  ivith  God  and  man.  VVhen  overseer  uf'  Poti- 
phar's*"  house,  his  fidehty^  \yas  })roved  by  strong  tempta* 
tions,  which  lie  hom)urably  resisted.*" 

2.  When  thrown  into  ])rison  by  the  artifices/  of  a  false 
woman,  his  integrity  and  prudence  soon  rendered  him 
conspicuous,  eveo  in  that  dark  niansion.  When  called 
into  the  presence  of  Fliaraoii,  the  wise  and  extensive 
plan  whicn  lie  fonned  for  saving  the  kingdojii  froin  the 
miseries  of  im[)endinii;>  famine,  jusily  raised  him  to  a  high 
staticm,  wherein  his  abilities  were  eminently  displayed  in 
the  public  service. 

S.  i3ut  in  his  whole  history,  there  i»  no  circumstance 
so  striking  and  interesting,  as  his  behaviour  to  his  breth- 
ren who  had  soUl  him  into  slavery.  The  moment  in 
'which  he  uiade  himself  known  to  tbem,  was  the  most 
critical  one  of  his  life,  and  tlie  most  di-cisive  of  his  cha- 
l-acler.  Jt  is  such  as  rarely  occurs  in  the  course  of  hu- 
man events  ;  and  is  calculated  to  draw  the  highest  atten- 
lion  of  all  who  are  endowed  with  any  degree  of  sensi- 
bility. 

4.  FroPxi  the  whole  tenor  of  the  narration^  it  appears, 
that  though  Joseph,  upon  the  arrival  of  his  brethren  in 
P^gypt,  made  himself  strange  to  them,  yet  from  the  be- 
j^innmg  he  intended  to  discover  himself;  and  studied  so 
* ..  conduct  the  discovery,  as  might  render  the  surprise  of 
joy  complete.  For  this  end,  by  affected  severity,  he  took 
measures  for  bringing  down  into  Egypt  all  his  father's 
diildren. 

5.  Th  'V  were  now  arrived  there ;  and  Benjamin  among 
the  rest,  a\  ho  was  his  younger  brother  by  the  same  moth- 
er, and  was  particularly  beloved  by  Joseph.  Him  he 
threatened  to  detain  ;  and  seemed  Avilling  to  allow  the 
rest  to  depart.  This  incident*  renewed  their  distress.— 
They  all  knew  their  father's  extreme  anxiety  about  the 
safety  of  Benjamin,,  and  with  what  dilliculty  he  had 
yielded  to  his  undertaking  this  journey. 

6.  Should  he  be  prevented  from  returning,  they  dread- 
ed that  grief  would  overpower  the  old  man's  spirits,  and 
Brove  fatal  to  his  life.  Judah,  therefore,  who  had  par- 
fecularly  urged  the  necessity  of  Benjamin's  acrompany- 
iM(  his  brothers,  and  had  solemnly  pledged  himself  to 
"      '  father  for  his  safe  return-,  craved  upon  this  occ*iioi]^ 


CA^6*  Patbetic  Pieces.  IMi 

on  audience  of  the  governor ;  and  gave  bim  a  full  aecouot 
of  the  circumstances  of  Jacob's  family. 

7.  Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  and  pathetic  thtfA 
this  discourse  of  Judah.  Little  knowing  to  >vhum  h« 
spoke,  he  paints  in  all  the  colours  of  simple  and  natural 
eloquence,  the  distressed  situation  of  the  aged  patriarcli,. 
hastening  to  the  close  of  life  ;  long  alllicted  for  the  loss 
of  a  favourite  son,  whom  he  supposed  to  have  been  toru 
to  pieces  by  a  beast  of  prey  ;  lanouring  now  under  anx- 
ious concern  about  his  youngest  son,  the  child  of  his  old 
age,  who  alone  was  left  alive  of  his  mother,  and  whom 
nothing  but  the  calamities  of  severe  famine  could  have 
moved  a  tender  father  to  send  from  home,  and  expose  to 
the  dangers  of  a  foreign;  land. 

8.  **  If  we  brin^  him  not  back  with  us,  we  shall  bring 
down  the  gray  bans  of  thy  servant,  our  father,  with  Bi>r- 
row,  to  the  grave.  1  pray  thee  therefore,  let  thy  servaLt 
abide,  in*stead  of  the  young  man,  a  bondman  to  our  lord. 
For  how  shall  1  go  up  to  my  father,  and  Benjamin  not 
with  me  ?  lest  I  see  tlie  evil  that  shall  come  on  my  f*. 
ther." 

9.  Upon  this  relation  Joseph  could  no  longer  restrain 
himselt.  The  tender  ideas  of  his  father,  and  his  fathei'* 
house,  of  his  ancFent  horn",  his  country,  and  his  kindred* 
of  the  distress  of  his  family,  and  his  own  exaltation,  ai! 
rushed  too  strongly  upon  his  mind  to  bear  any  farther 
concealment.*  *'lie  cried,  cause  every  man  to  go  o\^ 
from  me  ;  and  he  wept  aloud." 

10.  The  tears  which  he  shed  were  not  the  tears  of 
grief.  They  were  the  burst  of  affection.  They  were  the 
eff*usions'  of  a  heart  overflowing  with  all  the  tender  sen)>» 
bilities  of  nature.  Formerly  he  had  been  moved  in  the 
same  manner,  when  he  first  saw  his  brethren  before  him. 
**  His  bowels  yearned'"  upon  them  ;  he  sought  for  a  place 
where  to  weep.  He  went  into  his  chamber  ;  and  then 
washed  his  face  and  returned  to  them." 

11.  At  that  period  his   generous  plans  were  not  coip- 

fdeted.  But  now,  when  there  was  no  farther  occasion 
or  constraining  himself,  he  gave  free  vent  to  the  strong 
emotions  of  his  heart.  The  first  minister  to  the  king  o! 
Egypt  was  not  ashamed  to  show,  tliat  he  felt  as  a  niaiik, 
ana  a  brother.  "He  wept  aloud;  and  the  Egyptians 
and  the  house  of  Pharaoh,  henrd  him." 

11.  The  first  words  which  Iv  s  swMiHin^  heart  allowtf^ 
bim  to  nroDOunce,  are  the  most  ^^iitable  to  such. an  ftHW^ 


194  English  Keadf.r.  Fart  l. 

in^  situation  that  were  ever  uttered  : — **  I  am  Joseph  ; 
doth  my  father  yet  Jive  ?" — Wiiat  could  he,  what  ought 
he,  hi  that  impassionate  moment,  to  have  said  more  ? 
This  is  the  voice  of  nature  herself,  speaking  her  own  hin- 
gua^e  ;  and  it  penetrates  the  heart;  no  pomp  of  express- 
ion :  no  parade  of  kindness  :  but  strong  affection  hasten- 
ing tX)  utter  what  it  strongly  felt. 

13.  "His  hrethren  could  not  answer  him:  for  they 
were  troubled  at  his  presence."  Their  silence  is  as  ex- 
pressive^  of  those  emotions  of  repentance  and  shame, 
which,  on  this  amaziing  discovery,  ailed  their  breasts,  and 
Rtopned  their  utterance,  as  the  i'ew  words  which  Joseph 
speaiis,  are  expressive  of  the  generous  agitations  which 
Btrurgled  for  vent  within  him. 

14.  No  painter  could  seize/'  a  more  striking  momen-t 
for  displaying  the  characteristical?  features  of  the  human 
heart,  than  what  is  heirpresented.  Never  was  there  a 
situation  of  more  tender  and  virtuous  joy,  on  the  one 
hand ;  nor,  on  the  other,  of  more  overvvhelming'*  confu- 
iion  and  conscious  guilt.  In  the  simple  narration  of  the 
sacred  historian,  it  is  set  before  us  with  greater  energy  and  > 
hicher  effect,  than  if  it  had  been  wrought  up  with  all  the 
tolouring  of  the  most  admired  modern  eloquence. 

BLAIR. 

sectYon  vil 


«  Ex-it,  2ks'-lt,  departure,  quilting  the 

theatre  of  life 
b  Sng-geut,  »fig  j«gl',  to  hint,  iusinnat* 
c  Phy-sic-ian,  t'^*7-!sh.'-4n,  one  who  pru 

fcsscs  the  art  of  heaiiii!,' 
d  Mir-a-cle,  ni!r'-4-kK  something  abovt 

human  underslsniiing 
§  De-i-ty,  d^'-^-t*,  biviniiy,  God 
/  Ex-toft,  ^ks-tArl',  to  umw  by  force. 

gain  by  oppression 


Un-quencU  a-b!e,     fin-kw^t)sh'-4-bl» 

Uiiextiag'jishabie 
h  Tran  sit,  uAii'-df,  tho  passing   of  a 

piaiiel  just  by  or  un  <  r  any  other 

A.-iod  star  or  jilanet 
/  Sal-ii-ta-ry,  b4/-hj-fft,-ri,  wholesorce, 

saftj 
j  Ag-gra-va;e,  i\  '■•  rl-v.lte,  to  nnake 

worse,  to  provjko 


ALTAMONT. 

The  folloiobig  account  of  an  a-ffecting^i  mournful  exit,"  is  rela- 
ted by  Br.  Young,  tvlio  was  jf resent,  at  the riieuwcholy  scene. 
1.  The  sad  evening  before  the  death  of  the  noble  youth, 
whose  last  hours  suggested''  the  most  solemn  and  awfuj 
reflections,  I  waswitii  him.  No  one  was  present,  but  his 
physician,  and  an  intimate  whom  he  loved,  and  whom  he 
Akd  ruined.  At  my  coming  in,  ha  said,  **  You  and  the 
^J9ic}^n<>  9,re  come  too  late.     I  have  neither  life  nor 


Chap.,  6.  Pathiitic  Pifxiks.  13S 

hope.     You  both  aim  at ir^iracUs.''    You  would  raise  thtt 
dead!" 

2.  Hcjp'pn,  I  said,  was  raercifuJ — '*  Or,"  egfclaimed  h«, 
— "  I  could  not  h'lvc  been  thus  guilty.  What  has  it  done 
to  bless,  and  to  save  me  !  Ihavebeen  too  strony;  for  Om- 
nipotence !  I  have  plucked  down  ruin" — I  said,  the  bless- 
ed Redeemer, — "  Hold,  !  hold  !  you  woui\d  me  ! — That  is 
the  rock  ou  which  I  split: — 1  denied  his  name  !" 

S.  Kefusin?;  to  hnar  any  thin-^  from  me,  or  take  any 
thing  from,  the  phv;iiciaD,'he  lay  silent,  as  far  as  sudden 
darts  of  pain  would  j)ermit,  till  the  clock  struck  ;  then 
with  vehemence  he  exclaiinrd  ;  **  Oh  !  time  !  time  I  it  is 
fit  thou  shouldst  thus  strike  thj  murderer  t^  tiie  heart! 
How  art  tlum  fled  for  ever  ! — A  month  ! — Oh,  for  a  fein- 
ffle  Ave(;k  !  1  ask  not  for  years  !  though  an  ax^e  were  tou 
little  for  the  much  I  have  to  do."  On  nny  sa5nn{e;,  we 
could  not  do  too  much  :  that  heaven  was  a  blessed 
place — "  So  much  the  worse. — 'Tis  lost!  'tis  lost  I — Hea- 
ven is  to  me  the  severest  j)art  of  hell  !'* 

4.  Soon  after,  I  proposed  prayer, — "  Fray  you  that  can, 
I  never  prayed.  I  cannot  })ray— nor  need  1.  Is  not  Hea- 
ven on  my  side  already  ?  It  closes  with  my  conscience. 
Its  severest  strokes  hut  second  my  own." 

t».  Observing;  that  his  friend  wa«  much  touched  at  this, 
even  to  tears — (who  could  forbear?  I  could  not) — with  a 
most  affectionate  look  he  said,  "  Keep  those  tears  for 
thyself.  I  have  undone  thee. — Dost  thou  weep  for  me  ? 
that  is  cruel.  What  can  pain  me  more  ?"  Here  nis  friend, 
too  much  affected,  would  have  left  him. 

6.  "No,  stay — thou  still  mayst  hope ;  therefore  hear 
me  How  ma'dly  have  1  talked!  How  madly  hast  thou 
listened  and  believed!  hut  look  on  my  present  state,  as  a 
full  answer  to  thee,  and  myself.  This  body  is  all  weak- 
ness and  pain  ;  but  my  soul,  as  if  stun?^  up  by  torment  to 
greater  streng;th  and  spirit,  is  full  powerful  to  reason  ;  full 
mighty  to  suffer.  And  that,  which  thus  triumnlis  within 
the  jaws  of  immortality,  is,  doubtless  immortal — And,  as 
for  a  Deity,'  nothins;  less  than  an  Ahnit'hty  could  inflict 
What  I  feel." 

7.  I  was  about  to  congratulate  this  passive,  involuntary 
confessor,  on  his  asserting  the  two  prime  articles  of  his 
creed,  extorted/ by  the  rack  of  nature,  when  he  thus,  very 


^ ,  exclaimed  :— **  No,  no  I  let  mc  speak  on. 
lave  not  jong  to  speak. — My  wuch  injured  friend!  my 
JVi 


Mi  Exroiitni  RE.AiXE&  Part  % 

9onAt  M  my  body,  lies  in  ruins ;  In  scattered  ftrafgments  of 
broken  tho light — 

8.  **  Remorse  for  the  past,  throws  my  thought  on  tho 
liiture.  Worse  dread  of  the  future,  strikes  it  back  om  tho 
past.  I  turn,  and  turn,  and  find  no  ray.  Didst  thou  feel 
naif  the  mountain  that  is  on  me,  thou  wouldst  strugglo 
vriih  the  martyr  for  his  stake  ;  and  bless  Heaven  for  Uie 
flames  !  that  is  not  an  everlasting  liame ;  that  is  not  an 
unquenchable^  fire." 

9.  How  were  we  struck !  yet,  soon  after,  still  more. 
With  what  an  eye  of  distraction,  what  a  face  of  despair, 
he  cried  out!  •'My  principles  have  poisoned  my  friend; 
my  extravagance  has  begi^ared  mry  boy  !  my  unkindness 
has  murdered  my  wife  ! — And  is  there  another  hell  ? 
Oh  !  thou  blasphemed  yet  indulgent  LORD  GOD  !  Hell 
itself  is  a  refuge,  i^it  hide  me  from  thy  frown  !'* 

10.  Soon  after,  his  understanding  failed.  His  terrified 
Imagination  uttered  horrors  not  to  be  repeated,  or  ever 
forgotten.  And  eie  the  sun  (which,  I  nope,  has  seen 
few  like  him)  arose,  the  gay,  young,  noble,  ingenious,  ac- 
complished, and  most  wretched  Altamont  expired  ! 

11.  If  this  is  a  man  of  pleasure,  what  is  a  man  of  pain  T 
How  quick,  how  total,  is  the  transit*  of  such  persons  !— 
Jn  what  a  dismal  doom  they  set  for  ever !  How  short, 
alas  !  the  day  of  their  rejoicing  ! — For  a  moment  they 
glitter — they  dazzle  !  In  a  moment,  where  are  they  ?  Ob- 
fivion  covers  their  memories.  Ah  !  would  it  did  !  Infa- 
my snatches  them  from  oblivion.  Ih  the  long  living  an- 
nals of  infamy  their  triumphs  are  recorded. 

12.  Thy  sufferinfs,  poor  Altamont !  still  bleed  in  the 
bosom  of  the  heart-stricken  friend — for  Altamont  had  a 
friend.  He  might  have  had  many.  His  transient  morn- 
ing might  have  been  the  dawn  of  an  immortal  .day.  His 
name  might  have  been  gloriously  enrolled  in  the  records 
of  eternity.  His  memory  might  have  left  a  sweet  fra- 
grance behind  it,  grateful  to  the  surviving  friend,  salutary* 
to  the  succeeding  generation. 

IS.  With  what  capacity  was  he  endowed!  with  what 
advantages  for  being  greatly  good  !  But  with  the  talents 
©f  an  angel,  a  man  may  be  u  fool.  If  he  judges  amiss 
in  die  »u|>reme  point,  judging  right  in  all  else,  but  aggra- 
Tates/  his  folly  ;  as  it  shows  nim  wrong,  though  blessed 
with  the  best  capacity  of  being  right-  dr.  youro. 


CHAPTER  VIL 
SECTION  1. 

a  De-moc-ri-tui,  di-wi&k'-ri-tfls,  n  cel-j         ly,  intruBior*,  triiflb 

ebrated  philoduph'-r  of  Al>(]«:ru,  li«|j  R»5  vfr»o,  r*-vin*e',  eontrar^,  > 
put  out  his  eypa  to  apply  lnii.<ielf|         trasf,  to  turn  back 


mure  cloiioiy  lo   pliilosopfiici 

quiries 
b  Her-a-cli-tu8,  h^r-A-kU'-tfis,  a  celehra- 

tf^d  Greek  philosopher  of*  Ephueus, 

of  a  melancholy  dispoyitioii 
c  Mel-an-chol-y,iii4r-in-k61-i,  gloomy, 

dismal 
d  ap-prov«,   Ap-pr65v',   to  be   pleased 

with 
t  Mirth,  m^rth,  merriment,  laughter 
/  Rid-i-cule,  rfd'-i-kile,  lo  exi»o«e  to 

laughter,  mockery 
g  Buffoon,  bfif  fASii',  a  man  who  mak«s 

sport  by  low  jests 
k  Frail,  frAle,  weak,  liable  to  errowr 
t  Im-per-ti-uencc,  lm-p6r'-ti-nin«e,  fol- 


A:  Cul  pa  ble,  kiM'-pA  W,  crimiuat,   bU- 

ni^Hl)l«i 
Oe  piDrc,  d^-pliWe',  to  lament,  Ivwail 
III  Des-tme,  di»'-ili^  lo>duom,  ft{^)oiBt, 

devote 
n  Dic-tHte,  dtk'-t4t»,-  to  dl^liver  weih  a«- 

Ifcority 
o  Rc-jfjct.  r*-j5fcl%  to  ca*t  ort^  *«car4, 

rdu.-'e 
p  Mtt-ni  acrk,   mi'-i>^  ^,   ragiiif  wUh 

r»adnrc.<i,  ar  nmtf  person 
q  La-Rierit,  IA-i!*^i»«',  la  mrtM-*,  fric^^ 
;•  rre-pna-tcr«io*,    p»^-p&('-i&r-&«,    al^ 

Mird,  perverfud,  wron^c 
s  Fnu©  Ion,  f^n'-i^l£«,   /iteftbiihop  of 

Cambray 


DEMOCRITUS«    AND    HEKACLITV»*-* 

The  vices  and  follies  of  men  should  excite  comjHtMsioR  rath- 
er than  ridicule. 

Democritus.  I  find  it  impossible  to  reconcile  myself 
to  a  melancholy  philosophy. 

HeracUtus.  'And  I  am  equally  unable  to  appro ve**  of 
that  vain  philosophy,  which  teaches  men  to  cfespise  and 
ridicule  one  another.  To  a  wise  and  feeling  mind,  th« 
world  appears  in  a  wretched  and jjainful  li?:ht. 

Dejn.  Tliou  art  too  much  aflected  with  the  state  of 
things  ;  and  this  is  a  source  of  misery  to  thee. 

Her.  And  1  think  thou  art  too  little  moved  by  h.  Thy 
mirth*  and  ridicule/  bespeak  the  buffo<  n,<^  rather  than  the 
philosopher.  Does  it  not  excite  thy  compassion,  to  see 
mankind  so  frail,''  so  blind,  so  far  departed  from  the  rulei 
of  virtue  ? 

Dem.     I  am  excited  to  laugh ter,  when  I  see  so  much 
i  impertinence.'  and  folly. 
i       i/er.     And  yet,  after  all,  they,  who  ere  the  objects  of 

I       ♦  Democritus  and  Horaclitud  were  t\ro  ancient  philosa|)her»,  the   foriatr  4 
i  wbon  laugbe^i  uud  theia^ior  wep%  «i  lh%  909O9M  ood  feilMt  «f  wmiIub4. 


ttl9  English  Keadea.  Part,  U 

♦hy  ridicule,  include,  not  only  mankind  in  general,  but 
the  persons  with  whom  thou  livest,  thy  friends,  thy  fam- 
ily, nay  even  tliyself. 

Dem,  1  care  very  little  for  all  the  silly  persons  I  meet 
\rith  ;  and  tiiink  1  am  justifiable  in  diverting  myself  with 
their  folly. 

Her.  If  they  are  weak  and  foolish,  it  marks  neither 
wisdom  nor  humanity,  to  insult  rather  than  pity  them. 
But  is  itrcertaiu  .that  thou  art  not  as  extravagant'as  they 
are  ? 

Dem.  I  presume  that  I  am  not ;  since,  in  every  point, 
my  sentiments  are  the  very  reverse;  of  theirs. 

Her.  There  are  follies  of  ditlerent  kinds.  J^y  constant- 
ly amusing  thyself  with  the  errors  and  misconduct  of 
others,  thou  mayst  render  thyself  equally  ridiculous  and 
culpable.* 

Deni.  Thou  art  at  liberty  to  indulge  such  sentiments  ; 
and  to  weep  over  me  too,  if  tho«  hast  any  tears  to  spare. 
For  my  part,  I  cannot  refrain  from  pleasing  myself,  with 
Ihe  levities  and  ill  conduct  of  the  world  about  me.  Are 
not  all  men  foolish,  or  irregular  in  their  lives  ? 

Her.  Alas  !  there  is  but  too  much  reason  to  t)elieve^ 
they  are  so  :  and  on  this  ground,  I  pity  and  deplore/  their 
condition.  We  agree  in  this  point,  that  men  do  not  con- 
duct themselves  .recording  to  reasonable  and  just  princi- 
ples :  but  I,  who  do  not  suifer  myself  to  act  as  they  do, 
must  yet  regard  the  dictates  of  my  understanding  and 
feelings,  which  compel  me  to  love  them  ;  and  that  love 
iills  me  with  compassion  for  their  mistakes  and  irregular- 
ities. Canst  thou  condemn  me  for  pitying  my  own  spe- 
cies, my  brethren,  persons  born  in  the  same  condition  of 
life,  and  destined*"  to  the  same  hopes  and  privileges  ?  If 
thou  shouldst  enter  a  hospital,  where  sick  and  wounded 
persons  reside,  would  their  w^ounds  and  distresses  excite 
thy  mirth  ?  And  yet,  the  evils  of  the  body  bear  no  com- 
parison with  those  of  the  mind.  Thou  wouldst  certainly 
l)lush  at  thy  barbarity,  if  thou  hadst  been  so  unfeeling  as 
to  laugh  at  or  despise  a  poor  miserable  being  who  had  lost 
one  01  his  legs  :  and  yet  thou  art  so  destitute  of  human- 
ity, as  to  ridicule  those  who  appear  to  be  deprived  of  the 
noble  powers  of  the  understanding,  by  the  little  regard 
which  thev  pay  to  its  dictates." 

Dem.  jfic  who  has  lost  a  leg  is  to  be  pitied,  because' 
the  loss*  is  not  to  be  imputed  to  himself;  but  he  who  re- 
lectcp  tne  dictates  of  reason  and  conscience,  voluntariJ- 


Cliiip.  7.  Dialog tJES.  157 

deprives  himself  ol  their  aid.     The  loss  originates  in  hit 
ovvji  iuily. 

Iltr.  Ah  !  so  much  the  more  is  he  to  be  pitied  !  A  fu- 
rious maniac/  wlio  siiould  pluck  out  liis  own  eyes,  would 
<icserve  more  compassion  than  an  ordniary  blind  man. 

JJeju.  Come,  let  us  accommodate  this  business.  There 
.8  something  to  be  said  on  each  sidii  of  the  question. — 
There  is  evi-ry  where  reason  for  laughing,  and  reason  for 
Avet'pin^.  The  Avorid  is  ridiculous,  and  1  lau^h  at  it  :  it 
is  de|)h>rable,  and  thou  lamentest'/ over  it.  Every  per- 
son vi^iws  it  in  his  own  way,  and  according  to  his  own 
♦cmper.  One  point  is  uncjuestionable,  that  mankind  are 
preposterous  :'•  to  thinK  I'li^ht,  and  to  act  w  ell,  we  must 
think  and  act  dili'erently  from  them.  To  submit  to  the 
autnority,  and  follow  tlie  example  of  the  f^reater  part  of 
men,  would  render  us  foolish  and  miserable. 

Her,  All  this  is,  indeed,  true  ;  but  then,  thou  hast  no 
real  love  or  feeling  for  thy  s]>ecies.  The  calamities  of 
mankind  excite  thy  mirth:  and  this  proves  that  thou  hast 
no  regard  for  men,  nor  any  true  respect  for  the  virtue* 
which  they  have  unhappily  abandoned. 

J'tntlofw  ArchbUhop  of  Ccmihray. 

SECTION  11. 

A  ?yth-i-aB,  ]<!th'-AAj«,   a   Pythngurcan  «  De-fi-anco,  d*-fl' Anse,  a   eli&Ilenfe, 


|>h!lo!iO|;iti<r,  iiiliiiiutc  Willi  Liaiiiui 
b  Dii-inun,  ..i'-ui6ii,  a  ccltibrati'd  Pyuui 

furean  pl)tiO)«U|jhbr,  luUruuie  will; 
'yihiu* 
t  Iri-llicl,'.!!  fl!ki',  to  punish 
4.  iie»i  cue.  r^s'-ku,  to   liee  irotii  dange. 
or  reKiraiiit 


«x|>r«>ii«ioa  ul  c<jiiiciii]>t 
/  111  ^ui■-Jic-lelll,  lii-fturriah'-c-ut,  iuail- 

I'lllittO 

g  Con  lie.  Hcend,  k»:ii)^  t^nU',  to  yieUl, 

bcixi,   6.UU|) 

!i  r.«'-iiol-i  cent,  b6-iiir-(i-Miul,  kind,  dol- 
ing {fOOll 


DiONYSIUS.    rY'iUUAS,"    AND    DaMON.* 

Genuine  virtue  commands  respect^  even  from  the. had. 

Diomjsius.  Amazing!  What  do  1  see  ?  It  is  l^ythias 
just  arrived.  It  is  hideed  I'ythias.  1  did  not  think  it 
possible,     lie  is  come  to  die,  and  to  redeem  his  friend  I 

J\(;thias.  Yes,  it  is  Tythias.  1  left  the  place  of  my 
confinement,  with  no  other  views,  tlian  to  pay  to  heaven 
the  vows  1  had  made  ;  to  settle  my  family  concerns  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  justice  ;  and  to  bid  adieu  to  jny 
children,  that  1  might  d'ie  tranquil  and  satisfied. 

JJio.  But  why  dost  thou  return  ?  Hast  thou  no  feaf  of 
death  ?  Is  it  not  the  character  of  a  madman,  to  deidk  jt 
thus  voluntarily  ! 


19B  CneLisii  IIbadkiiu  Pari.  % 

Py.    I  return  ta  suffer,  though  I  have  not  deserved 

deatn.     Every  principle  of  honour  and  goodness,  forhids 
£be  to  alJow  my  friena  to  die  lor  me. 

Dio,     Dost  thou,  then,  h)ve  himhetter  than  thyself? 

Py.  No;  I  loA'e  him  as  myself.  But  lam  persuaded 
•that  I  ought  to  suffer  death,  rather  tiian  my  friend;  since 
it  was  Pythias  whom  thou  hast  decreed  to  die.  It  were 
not  just  thatDamoti  should  suffer,  to  deliver  me  from  the 
deat'fi  which  was  designed,  not  for  him,  hut  for  me  only. 

Dio,  But  thoa  supjprosest,  that  it  is  as  unjust  to  inflict^ 
death  upon  thee,  as  upon  thy  friend. 

Py.  Very  true  ;  we  are  both  perfectly  innocent ;  and 
it  is  equally  unjust  to  make  either  of  us  suffer. 

Dio.  Why  dost  thou  tk<m  assert,  that  it  were  injustice 
to  put  him  to  death  instead  of  thee  ? 

Py.  It  is  unjusty  in  the  same  deg;ree,  to  inflict  death 
cither  on  Damon  or  myself;  hut  Pythias  were  highly 
culpabk  to  let  Damon  suffer  that  death,  which  the  ty- 
rant Uad  ji^pared  for  Pythias  i}n\y. 

Dm.  Dost  thou  then  return  hither,  on  the  day  ap- 
pointo4T  ^ith  no  other  view,  than  to  save  tine  hfe  of  a 
irientf,  hv  losing  thy  own  ? 

Py.  1  return,  in  regard  to  thee,  to  suffer  an  act  of  in- 
justice which  it  is  common  for  tyrants  to  inflict ;  and, 
with  respect  to  Damon,  to  perform  my  duty,  by  rescuing** 
him  from  the  danger  he  incurred  hy  his  generosity  to  me- 

Dio.  And  now,  Damon,  letmc  address  ntyself  to  thee. 
Didst  thou  not  really  fear,  that  Pythias  woaild  never  re- 
turn ;  and  that  thou  wouldst  he  put  to  death  on  his  ac- 
count ? 

Da.  1  was  hut  too  well  assured,  that  Pythias  wouFd 
punctually  return  ;  and  tliat  he  would  he  mma  solicitous 
to  keep  his  promise,  than  to  preserve  hrslrfe.  Would  to 
heaven,  that  his  relations  and  friends  had  forcibly  detain- 
ed him  I  lie  would  then  have  lived  for  the  comfort  and 
benefit  of  good  men  ;  and  I  should  have  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  dying  for  him  I 

Dio,     What !  Does  life  displease  thee  ? 

Da,  Yes  :  it  displeases  me  when  I  see  and  feel  ttte 
power  of  a  tyrant. 

Dio.     It  is  well  \  Thou  shalt  see  him  no  more.     I  will 
Order  thee  to  he  put  to  death  immediately. 
'    Py.     Pardon  tne  feelings   of  a  man   who  sympathises 
»rith  his  dying  friend.     But  remember  it  was  Pythias  who 
'tM8  deroted  Dj  thee  to  destructit  V.    1  come  to  tuUmit 


Chtf^K  t.  DiALOODfift.  lit 

U)  it,  that  I  may  redc«rm  my  friend.    Do  not*  neftne  m% 

tiiis  consolatioii  in  my  last  hour. 

f>io.  I  cannot  endure  men  who  despise  death,  and  set 
my  })o\ver  at  deflamce '. 

JJa.     Tiiou  canst  not,  then,  endure  virtue. 

JDio,  No  ;  1  cannot  endure  that  proud,  disdainful  rir- 
tue,  whlcii  contenvns  life  ;  which  dreads  no  punishment; 
and  which  is  insensible  to  the  charms  of  riches  and  plea- 
sure. 

Da.  Thou  seest^  however,  that  it  is  a  virtue,  which  is 
not  insensible  to  the  dictates  of  honour,  justice,  and  friend- 
shin. 

i)lo.  Guards,  take  Pythias  to  execution.  We  shall  se« 
whc^ther  Dani<»n  '/vin  continue  to  despise  mv  authority. 

Da,  Pythias,  by  returning  to  submit  himself  tothjr 
pleasure,  has  meriud  his  life,  and  d**served  thy  favour; 
but  I  have  excited  thy  indii^nation,  hy  n'signing  myself  t6» 
tliy  power,  in  order  to  save,  iiim  ;  be  satisfied,  then,  witk' 
this  sacrifice,  and  put  me  to  dtath. 

Py:  fl(jld,  Dio«ysiu3  !  remember,  it  was  Pythias  alono* 
who  oiTcnded  thee  ;  Damon  could  not 

Dio.  Alas  I  what  do  1  see  and  hear  I  where  am  I  !  How^ 
miserable  ;  and  iiow  wortny  to  be  so  !  1  have  hitherto 
known  nothing  of  true  virtue.  1  have  snent  my  life  iri 
darknesa*  aiid  error,  Allt  my  power  and  honours  are  in- 
suiJicient/to  produce  tovev  I  cannot  boast  of  having  ac- 
i[uired  a  single  friend,  in  the  course  of  a  reigfi  of  thirty 
years.  And  yet  these  two  persons,  in  a  private  condition, 
love  one  another  tenderly,  unreservedly  confide  in  each 
other,  are  mutually  happy,  and  ready  to  die  for  each 
other's  preservation. 

*Py.  How  couldst  thou,  who  hast  never  loved  any  per- 
son, expect  to  have  friends  ?  Jf  thou  hadst  loved  antf  re- 
spected men,  thou  wouldst  have  secured  their  love  and 
respect.  Thou  hast  feared  mankind  ;  and  tliey  feartiiee  ; 
they  detest  thee. 

Dio.  Damon,  Pythias,  condescend^  to  admit  me  as  a 
third  friend,  in  a  connexion  so  perfect.  1  give  you  your 
lives  ;  and  I  will  load  you  with  riches. 

Da.  We  have  no  desire  to  be  enriched  by  thee  ;  and, 
in  regard  to  thy  friendship,  we  cannot  accept  or  enjoy  it, 
till  thou  become  good  ana  just.  Without  these  qualihca- 
dons,  thou  canst  be  connected  with  wowe  but  trembhnr 
ilaves,  and  base  flatterers.  To  be  ioved  and  esteemeo 
by  meo  of  £re»  and  geoeivus  minds,  thuu  mu»t  bp  virli^ 


14^ 


ErroLisa  Reader. 


Part  U 


pus,  affectionate,  disinterested,  beneficent;*  and  know 
how  to  live  in  a  sort  of  equality  with  those  who  sliare 
and  deserve  thy  friendship. 

Fendon^  Archbishop  of  Cambray. 

SECTION  III. 

a  Skep-ti-cism,  skSp'-tfr-slzm,  universal  p 

doubt 
h  Dog-ma-tize,  d6g'-mitize,  to  asgert  q 

positively 
«  Un-di8-cov-«r-a-ble,  Sn-dls-kfiv'-fir-i^: 

bl,  not  to  be  seen 
d  Nos-trum,  n6s'-trftin,  a  medicine  not 

made  publick 
e  Log-tck,  15d'-jik,  the  art  of  reasoning  t 

well  .        I 

/  En-vel-ope,   Sn-vSl'-&p,    to  inwrap,itt 

hide  j 

jf  Pre-Bume,  piA-zume',  to  suppose,  ren- 

ture 
k  Pred-e-cos-«or,  prRd-i-s2s'-sfir,  an  an- 
cestor, one  gulrij^  before 

•  Phe-nOm-e-non,  f^-n6m'-i-n5n,  a  new 

appearance 
j  Ge-om-e-try,  je-am'-m4-tr4,    the  sci 

ence  of  quantity 
k  Pa-nat-ick,  4'A-nAt -Ik,  an  enthusias- 

tick  person 
I  En-thu-si-ascn,  3n-«Jiii'-zhi-Azm,  heal 

of  imagination 
m  De«'Carte5,  d6-kart',  a  philosopher 
n  Ob-flcene,  6b-6iin',    immodest,  dis 

gustin^  li 

•  Pen-i-tence,    p<n'-n6-t8p.8e,    repent- 

ance 


In-fir-mi-ty,  In-flt'-mh-ik,   weaknew 
sickness 

Con-se-criite.  k6n'-Bfe-krite,  to  mako 
sacred,  dedicate 

Sect,  sekt,  a  body  of  men  united  in 
soni*^  particular  tenets 

Sanc-ifon,   singU'-fchfln,  ratification, 
a  law,  to  ratify 

Rig-id,   rlu'-j!d,  stiff,  severe,  inflexi- 
ble 

Pas-sion,  pi«h'-fin,  commotion  of  tbt 
mind,  anger,  love 

Cred-u-lous,  fcrgd'-ju-lfls,  too  apt  t* 

believe 
I  Pertt,  \)?:?.tj  plague,  pestilence,  bane 

Fraud,  fiivvd,  cheat,  irick,  artifice 

De-lir-i-om,  d^-llr-i-fmi. alienation  of 
mind,  dotage 

Mas  sa-cre,    ra&s'-s4  kSr,    butchery, 
murder 

Con-vul-sion,  k6n-vfir-shun,  aninvol* 
uniary  contraction 

Para-lyt-ic-al.  pi\r-A-nt'-t!k-4l,  palsi- 
ed, inclined  to  palsey 

E-van-gel-i  cal.j&-v&n-jli'4-kAl,  agree- 
able to  gospiil 

]Med-i-cinjj,  mftd'Hli-sln,  a  remedy, 
p  by  sick 


Locke  and  Batxe. 

ChriBtianity  defended  against  the  cavils  of  skeprtmsvua 

Bavle.  Yes,  we  were  both  philosophers  ;  but  my  phi- 
losopliy  was  the  deepest.     You  dogmatized  ;*  I  doubted. 

Locke.  Do  you  make  doubting  a  piooC  of  depth  in 
philosophy  ?  It  may  be  a  good  begmning  of  it ;  out  if 
]s  a  baa  end. 

Bayle.  No  : — the  more  profound  our  searches  are  in- 
to the  nature  of  things,  t'le  more  uncertainty  we  shall 
^nd  ;  and  the  most  subtle  minds  see  objections  and  diffi- 
culties in  every  system,  which  are  overlooked  or  undis- 
coverable*  by  ordinary  undeistandingn. 

Locke.  It  would  be  better  then  to  be  no  philosopher, 
and  to  continue  m  the  vulgar  herd  of  majokind,  that  one 
xtmj  havtt  tha  convenience  of  thinking  that  oofi  knows 


Ckap.  7.  Dialogues.  141 

something.  1  And  that  the  €yes  which  nature  has  given 
me,  see  many  things  very  clearly,  though  some  are  out 
of  their  reach,  or  discerned  very  dimly.  What  opinion 
ought  1  to  have  of  a  physician,  who  should  offer  me  an 
eye-water,  the  use  of  which  would  at  iirst  so  sharpen  my 
si;i;ht,  as  to  carr\'  it  farther  than  ordinary  vision  ;  but 
would  in  the  end' put  them  out?  Your  philosophy  is  to 
the  eyes  of  the  mind,  what  I  have  supposed  the  doctor's 
nostruni«^  to  he  to  those  of  the  hody.  It  actually 
brought  your  own  excellent  undersUuiding,  whif.ii  was  by 
nature  ([uick-sighted,  and  rendered  more  so  by  art  and 
subtilt}^  of  lo;:;ic''  jx'culiar  to  yourself — it  brought,  i  say, 
your  very  acute  ifnderstanding  to  s<'e  nothing  clearly  ; 
and  enveloped/  all  the  great  truths  of  reason  and  religion 
m  mists  of  doubt. 

Bayle.  1  own  it  did  ;  but  your  comparison  is  not  just. 
I  did  not  see  well,  before  1  used  my  pliilosophic  eye-wa- 
ter :  J  only  suj)posed  1  saw  well  ;  Lut  1  was  in  an  error, 
with  all  the  rest  of  mankind.  The  blindness  was  real, 
the  perc('])ti(ms  were  im;i<j;inary.  1  cured  myself  first  of 
those  false  imaginations,  and  then  I  laudably  endeavour- 
ed to  cure  other  men. 

Locke.  A  great  cure  indeed  !  and  do  not  you  think, 
that  in  return  for  the  service  you  did  them,  they  ought 
to  erect  you  a  statue  ? 

Bay/e.  Yes  ;  it  is  good  for  human  iiature  to  know  its 
own  wenkneL^s.  When  we  arrogantly  presume*'  on  a 
strength  we  have  not,  we  are  always  m  great  danger  of 
hurting  ourselvts,  or  at  least  of  deserving  ridicule  and 
contempt,  by  vain  and  idle  efforts. 

Locke,  i  agree  with  vou,  that  human  nature  should 
know  its  own  v\  eakness  ;  l>ut  it  should  also  feel  its  strength, 
and  try  to  improve  it.  This  was  my  employment  as  a 
philosopher.  1  endeavoured  to  discover  tlie  real  pow- 
ers of  the  mind,  to  see  w  iiat  it  could  do,  and  what  it 
could  not ;  to  restrain  it  from  efforts  beyond  its  ability ; 
but  to  teach  it  how-  to  advance  as  far  as  the  faculties  giv- 
en to  it  by  nature,  with  the  utm(»st  exertion  and  most 
propter  culture  of  them,  would  allow  it  to  go.  In  the 
vast  ocean  of  philosophv,  1  had  the  line  and  the  plummet 
always  in  my  nands.  Many  of  its  depths  1  found  myself 
X'  .able  tXt  fathom  ;  but,  by  caution  in  sounding,  and  the 
careful  observations  I  macle  in  the  course  of  my  voyage, 
I  found  out  some  truths  of  so  much  use  to  mankind,  that 
I  thev  acknowledge  me  to  have  been  their  benefactor. 


t4i  EnoLi^b  Reader^  Part  1 

Ba^te.  Tfe«iT  ignorance  makes  them  think  go.  Some 
other  philosopher  will  come  hereafter,  and  show  those 
truths  to  be  falsehoods.  He  will  pretend  to  discover  oth- 
er truths  of  equal  importance.  A  later  sage  will  arise, 
poi^aps  among  men  now  barbarous  and  unlearned,  whose 
'B^^acious  discoveries  will  discredit  the  opinions  of  his  ad- 
imred  predecessors. a  Jn  philosophy,  as  iia  nature,  all 
dfaanges  rts  form,  and  one  tning  exists  by  the  destruction 
of  another. 

•I^ocke.  <(l>j>iDions  taken  up  without  a  patient  investiga- 
tioa,  dependmg  on  terms  not  accurately  defined,  and 
pifmclples  begged  without  proof,  like  theones  to  explain 
the  ^pftesnomena'  of  nature,  built  on  suppositions  instead 
of  experiments,  must  perpetually  change  -and  destroy 
one  another.  But  some  opinions  there  are,  even  in  mat- 
ters not  obvioueto  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  which 
the  mind  has  received  on  such  rational  grounds  of  assent, 
that  they  are  ac  immovable  as  the  pillars  of  heaven  ;  or 
(to  speak  philosophically)  as  the  great  laws  of  Nature, 
by  wnich,  under  God,  tlie  universe  is  sustained.  Can 
you  seriously  tblnk,  that,  because  the  hypothesis  of  your 
countryman,  Descartes,  which  was  nothmg  but  an  inge- 
nious, well-imnflmed  romance,  has  been  lately  exploded, 
the  system  of  Sfewton,  which  is  built  on  experiments  and 
p;eometry,i  the  two  most  certain  methods  of  discover- 
ing truth,  will  ever  fail ;  or,  that,  because  the  whims  o. 
fanatics*  and  tbe  dtv.inity  of  the  schoolmen,  cannot  now  be 
supported,  the^doctnines  of  that  religion,  wfeich  I  the  de- 
clared enemy  olf  ii^l  enthusiasm'  and  false  reasoning,  firm- 
ly believed  and  maintained,  will  ever  be  shaken  ? 

Bayle.  If  y»n  had  asked  Descartes,'"  w&51e  he  was  in 
the  height  of  his  vogue,  whether  his  system  would  ever 
be  confuted  by  any  other  philosophers,  as  tliat  of  Aristo- 
tle had  been  by  bis,  what  answer  do  you  suppose  he 
would  have  retnrned  ? 

Locke,  Come,  come,  you  yourself  know  the  difference 
'between  the  ^wndations  on  which  the  credit  of  those 
systems,  and  tbatsof  Newton  is  placed.  Your  skepticism 
is  more  affected  than  real.  You  found  iit  a  shorter  way 
to  a  great  leptrtation,  (the  only  wish  o'f  your  heart,)  to 
object,  than  to  deffend  ;  to  pull  down,  tian  to  set  up.— 
And  your  tail-ents  were  admirable  for  that  kind  of  wr-'t. 
Then  your  hwddling  together  in  a  Critical  Dictionary,  a 
pleasant  taHe,  or  obscene*  jest,  and  a  grave  argument 
fc^jfiinst  V.i^  Christian  reljgiofj,  a  witty  contutntiou  of  96m#  , 


Clap*  T.  DiALOGUESU  149 

absurd  author,  and  an  artful  sopliism  tfj  iimp^acJi  some 
respectable  truth,  was  particularly  comiTiodious  to  all 
oiur  young  smarts  and  sinatterers  in  free-thinking..  ^But 
"what  inisclfcief  have  you  not  done  to  human  socjety  ? — 
You  hav-e  ^endeavoured,  and  with  some  d^grt^e  of  success, 
to  shake  those  foundations,  on  which  tha  whole  'moral 
world,  and  the  p;reat  fabric  of  social  happiness  -entirely 
rest.  How  could  you,  as  a  philosojvher^  in  t'he  sober 
hours  of  rclle-ction,  answer  for  this  to  your  conscnence, 
everi  supposjiii^^  you  had  doubts  of  the  truth  of  a  system, 
which  gives  to  virtue  its  sweetest  hopes,  to  impenitent 
Viice  its  greatest  (fears,  and  to  true  penitence"  its  best  con- 
solations ;  wJaicla  restrains  even  the  least  approaches  to 
guilt,  and  yet  mijjke  those  allowances  for  the  Infirmities/* 
o-f  our  nature,  jviiich  the  Stoic  pride  denied  to  it,  but 
which  its  real  imf>erfection,  and  the  goodness  of  its  in- 
finitely benevol-ent  Creator,  so  evidently  i€*quiir.e  ? 
1  Bayle.  The  rriind  is  free  ;  and  it  loves  to  exert  its  free- 
d-om.  Any  restsaint  upon  it  is  a  violence  done  to  its  na- 
ture, ajrKi  a  tyranny^  against  \VbJch  it  Jiasa  right  to  rebel. 

Loche.  IheiBiind,  though  free,  has  a  ^ovwrnor  wiihin 
Itself,  Wih,^cih  may  and  ougia  to  limit  the  exercise  of  its 
freedoriffi.     TJiat  governor  is  reason. 

Bayslt.  ¥e8:: — bi*t  reason,  like  other  -g^^vea^nors,  has  a 
policy  more  d^eiident  upon  our  uncertain  cajprice,  than 
upon  any  fixedi  laws.  And  if  that  reason,  which  rules 
my  mind  or  yours,  has  itappencd  to  set  ikpaf^ivourite  no- 
tion, it  not  oidy  submits  in^plicitly  to  it,  hut  desires  that 
the  same  respect  should  be  paid  to  it  by  all  the  rest  of 
mankind.  Now  1  hold  that  any  man  may  lawfully  op* 
pose  this  desire  in  another  ;  and  tha-t  if  he  is  wise,  he  will 
use  his  utmost  endeavours  to  check  it  in  himself. 
I  Locke.  Is  there  not  also  a  weakness  of  a  contrary  na- 
ture to  this  you  are  now  ridiculing  ?  Do  we  not  often 
take  a  pleasure  in  showing  our  own  power,  and  gratify- 
ling  our  own  pride,  by  degrading  the  notions  set  up  by 
lother  men,  and  generally  respected  ? 
j  Bayle.  I  believe  we  do  ;  and  by  this  means  it  often  hap- 
pens, that,  if  one  man  builds  and  consecrate s^  a  temple  to 
^olly,  another  pulls  it  down. 

I    Locks.     Do  you  think  it  beneficial  to  human  society,  to 
jbave  all  temples  pulled  down  ? 
I    Baylt.     1  cannot  say  that  1  do. 

I    Locke,    Yet  1  find  not  in  your  writings  any  mark  ol 
iiistiwcj^o^i,  to  show  us  which  you  mean  to  save. 


144  ErvGLisH  Reader.  Part  1. 

Bayle.  A  true  philosopher,  like  an  impartial  historian, 
must  be  of  no  aecf*. 

Locke,  Is  there  no  medium  between  the  blind  zeal  of 
n  sectary,  and  a  total  indifference  to  all  religion  ? 

Baifle'.     With  regard  to  morality,  I  whs  not  indifferent. 

Lo'clce,  How  could  you  tlien  bi  indifferent  with  regard 
to  the  sanctions*  religion  gives  to  morality  f  How  could 
you  publish  what  tends  so  directly  and  apparently  tf 
weaken  in  mankind  the  belief  of  those  sanctions  ?  Wa 
not  this  sacrificing  the  great  interests  of  virtue  to  the  lit 
lie  motives  of  vanity  ? 

Bayle.  A  man  may  act  indiscreetly,  but  he  cannot  do 
>  rong,  by  declaring  that,  which,  on  a  full  discussion  of 
the  question,  he  sincerely  thinks  to  be  true. 

Locke,  An  enthusiast,  who  advances  doctrines  preju- 
dicial to  society,  or  opposes  any  that  are  useful  to  it 
has  the  strength  of  opinion,  and  the  lieat  of  a  disturb 
ed  imagination,  to  plead  in  alleviation  of  his  fault.  Bui 
your  cool  head  and  sound  judgment,  can  have  no  such 
excuse.  I  know  very  well  there  are  passa^ces  in  all  your 
works,  and  those  nnt  few,  where  you  talk  like  a  rigid' 
moralist.  I  have  also  heard  that  your  character  was  ir- 
reproachably good.  Hut  wiu;n,  in  the  most  laboured 
parts  of  your  writings,  you  sap  the  surest  foundations  of 
ail  moral  duties ;  what  avails  it  that  in  others,  or  in  the 
conduct  of  your  life,  you  appeared  to  respect  them.? 
How  many,  who  have  stronger  passions**  than  you  had, 
and  are  desirous  to  get  rid  of  the  curb  that  restrains  them, 
will  lay  hold  of  your  skepticism,  to  set  themselves  loose 
from  all  obligations  of  virtue  !  What  a  misfortune  is  it  to 
have  made  such  a  use  of  such  talents  !  it  would  have  been 
better  for  you  and  for  mankind,  if  you  had  been  one  of 
the  dullest  of  Dutch  theologians,  or  the  most  credu- 
lous" monk  in  a  Portuguese  convent.  The  riches  of  the 
mind,  like  those  of  fortune,  may  be  employed  so  per- 
versely, as  to  become  a  nuisance  and  pest,^  instead  of  an 
ornament  and  support,  to  society. 

Bayle,  You  are  very  severe  upon  me. — Hut  do  you 
count  it  no  merit,  no  service  to  mankind,  to  dehver  them 
from  the  frauds^  and  fetters  of  priestcraft,  from  tiie  de- 
liiTtimsv  of  fanaticism,  and  from  the  terrors  awd  follies  ot 
superstition  ?  Consider  how  much  mischief  these  have 
done  to  the  world  I  Even  in  the  last  age  ;  what  massacres.* 
what  civil  wars,  what  convulsions'*  of  f^overument,  what 
corjfuaion  in  society,  did  t.hi^y  produce  I    Nay,  ia  tb^at  w« 


Chop,  7.  l)lAL0Gt7Z».  14* 

[>oth  lived  in,  (liougTi  much  more  enlightened  than  tlie  fbr- 
fner,  did  1  not  see  them  occasion  a  violent  persecution  in 
nj  ow^n  country  ?  and  can  you  blame  me  for  striking  at 
Lhe  root  of  these  evils  ? 

Locke,  The  root  of  these  evils,  you  well  know  wns 
false  relij^ion  :  h^it  you  stmck  at  the  true.  Heaven  and 
l.eli  aro  not  more  different,  than  the  system  of  fiuth 
I  defended  ;  and  that  which  produced  the  horrors  of 
which  you  spiiak.  Why  woiilti  you  so  fallaciously  con- 
found them  to;^t*ther  in  some  of  your  writings,  that  it  rt- 
Liuiresmuch  more  judgment,  and  a  more  diligent  attention, 
tnan  ordinary  readrrs  have,  to  separate  th^m  again,  and 
Lo  make  the  proper  distinctions  ?  This,  indeed,  i»  the 
^reat  art  of  the  celebrated  free-thinkers.  They  recom- 
mend themselves  to  warm  and  ingenuous  minds,  by 
lively  strokes  of  wit,  and  f)y  arguments  really  strong,  a- 
;;ainst  superstition,  enthusiasm  and  priestcraft.  But,  at 
Llie  same  time,  they  insidiously  throw  the  colours  of 
these  upon  the  fair  face  of  true  religion  ;  and  dress  her 
out  in  their  garh,  with  a  malignant  intention  to  reader  her 
odious  or  des])ical)le,  to  those  who  have  not  penetration 
enough  to  discern  the  impious  fraud.  Some  of  them 
may  have  thus  deceived  themselves,  as  well  as  others. 
Yet  it  is  ceitain  no  book  that  ever  was  written  by  the 
mofit  acute  of  these  gentlemen,  is  so  repugnant  to  priest- 
craft, to  spiritual  tyranny,  to  all  nbsuixi  superstitions,  to 
all  that  CLin  tend  to  disturb  or  injure  society,  as  that  gos- 
pel they  so  mwcli  afl'ect  to  despise. 

Bayle.  Mankind  are  so  made,  that,  when  they  hare 
been  over- healed,  thev  cannot  be  brought  to  a  proper 
temper  again,  till  they  nnve  i)eea  over-cooled.  My  skep- 
ticism might  be  necessary,  to  abate  the  fever  and  phren- 
zy  of  false  religion.  , 

Lockt,  A  wise  prescription,  indeed,  to  bring  on  a  par- 
alytica)'state  of  the  mind,  (for  such  a  skepticism  as  yours 
is  a  palsy,  which  deprives  tlic  mind  of  all  vigour,  and 
deadens  its  natural  and  vital  j  owers.)  in  order  to  take  off 
a  fever  which  temperance,  and  the  milk  of  the  evangeli* 
cal'"  doctrines,  would  probably  cure  ? 

Bayk.  I  acknowledge  that  those  medicines^  have  a 
ereat  power,  hnt  few  doctors  apply  them  untainted  with, 
tlie  mixture  of  some  harsiier  drugs^  or  i»ome  unsafe  aS3 
ridiculous  nostrums  of  their  own. 

Locke*  What  you  now  say  is  too  ^jrue.'— God  has  (;iveo 
Us  a  most  excellent  phvtla  for  thk.  soul,  in  al!  its  di&«^s^* 


146 


English  Reader, 


Pun 


bat  bad  and  interested  physicians,  orjgrtorant  and  c>n^ 
ceiled  quacks,  administer  it  bo  ill  to  the  rest  of  mankinA 
that  much  of  the  benefit  of  it  is  unhappily  lost. 

LORD  LTTTELTON. 


CllAPTER  VIIl. 


SECTION  I. 


C  Ci©-«-ro.  «lft'-4-rA,  a  Boman  orator. 

•on  or  a  Roman   Jlni^lu,  born  a 

Arpinuin 
i  Ver-r«s,  vir'-rAr.,  a  Roman  wiio  jjov 

erned  tho  provineo  ol'  SjCily  us  prac 

tor 

#  Al-lay,  i!-li',  to  abate 

4{  ]in-pu-ia-lion,  liij.  p^-ti'-sh&n,  cen- 
•are,  reproach,  reflation 

$  Ef»fec-lu-al-Iy,  Sf  ffek'-tshii  Al-IA,  pow- 
erfully, efricaciously 

/  Pro«-c-'cu-tion,  pros-s^-kfa'-s'r.Sn,  pur- 
suit, pursuit  in  law 

g  Convict,  k6n-v!kt'.,  to  prove  guilty 

k  Prop-a-gu-tor,  pr6i)'-4  gk-tfir,  asprea 
tier,  promot*T 

i  Blan-di;r-ous,filin'-dSr-68,  calumnious, 
false 

j  Ae-quit,  Ak-kw!t',  to  set  free,  to  ab 
•olve,  to  disclmrgo  a  duty 

1  Pain-|)hyl-i-a,  plnj-l"1i'-li-i,  a  pro 
Tince  of  Ania  Minor  auci-ently  cal- 
led Alopsopia 

I  Scourge,  lik&rje,  to  lash,  whip,  a  lash, 
a  whip 

«i  Au-thor-i-ty,  iw-th6r'^-ti,  power, 
influence 

%  Bi-ai,  bi -&s,  to  incline  to  some  side 

9  ProB-e-cu-tor,  {)r6s'-s^-k{i-lfir,  one 
who  pursues  another  by  law 

f  Xr-reg-u-l«r-i-ty,!r-rSg-gii-iar'-6-t^,  de- 
TiatH>n  from  rule 

f  Qua>^tor-8hip,  kw?.ii -tur-ehlp,  thr 
office  of  a  quspstor 

r  Cne-iu»-Ca^-bo,n6'-y5s-kir'-b&,  a  Ro 
man  Orator 

•  Treas-o-rer,  tr8rh'-&-rfir,  one  who  has 

the  oare  of  the  money  of  a  ^tate 
•^▼V«-I«te,  Yi'-i-Iite,  to  injure,  to  in- 
fringe 


n  Era-b'^/.-zle,  Sra-bftz'-rl,  to  appropriata 

by  breach  of  trust,  to  wa«te 
»  Sic-il-ian,  si^-bli'-yAa,  anativo  ofSi<^ 

ily 
w  Un  ul  ien-a-blo,fin-ile'-y5n-4-bl,  not 

transferable 
X  Precedent,  prgs'-sA-dSnt,  a  rt:l»  fo# 

example 
y  Ar  bi-ira-ry,  &r'-bi-trA.-ri,  despoCick, 

absolute 
z  Com-puie,  k6m-piite',  to  calculate,  to 

count 
a  Ally,  Al-ir,  one  united  to  another,  to 

unite 
A-tro-cious,  4-trA'  shftj,  wicked  in  a. 

high  degree,  horrid 
c  Ex-empt,  figz-gmt',  free  from,  to  pri- 
vilege, lo  free  from 
i  Un-ex  cep-tioi)-a-bl3,un-Sk-BJp'-6h&n" 

i  bl,  not  liable  to  objection 
J  Kar-bonr,  h{ir'-b5r,  to  entertain,  bHoV 

ter,  aabplior 
/  Pi-rate,  pl'-rit,  a  sea  robber 
«•  Ilav-ag  cr,   rdv'-rJJjo-fir,   one    who 

lays  waste,  one  who  spoils 
i  Del-ri-inent,  dSt'-trfe-^mSnt,  loss,  dai»- 

age,  mischief,  hurt 
I  Ex-cla-ma-tion,  £ks-k]&-m4'-8h&a,  ve 

henieHt  outcry 
j  A 1  lego,  &l-lfidje'.,  to  affirm,  plead  •• 

an  excuse  , 

k  Cru-ci-fi*-ion,  kr83  s^-flk'-shSn,  thf 

punishment  of  nailing  to  a  cfoss 
I  Pub-ll-UB-Ga-vi-u8-Co-8n.-nu8,    pBb'- 

lisas-gi'-v^-ftfl-ki-s^'-iias, 

m  Syr-a-cnse,  slr'-i  kize,  a  celebrated 

city  of  Sicily 
n  Lu-ci-u8-Pre-ti-ug,li'-gh&-fta"pri'-ebA' 
&s 
Pa-Bor-nMia,  p4  n^'-m&e,  thb  u%xbm 


iJkap.  5. 


Public  Spekch^^. 


14T 


wa«  common    to  ne^en    diflbrent 

towns  in  Asia  and  Europe 
j»  Ai-'eiit,  4t-i(-st',  to  \vitHe8«,  ir,  call  to 

witness,  tu  avouch 
f  In-fc-n-our,!n-fi'-r^-fir,low<5r  in  place, 

Bubordaiaie 


r  Mnnr-i«-trnfe,  mAd'-jfji-trlle,  a  ninn  In- 

M'stod  wilh  tiithorrty 
s  Siib  ver-siun,     sib-v^r'  «liftn,      orer- 

tlirow 

t  Afi-ar-ciiy,  Aii'-ir-ki  want  o{*  goverrv- 
jnent 


CiCEROo  against  Verres.* 

1.  JL  HE  time  IS  come,  Fathers,  wh^n  that  which  has 
long  been  wishiMi  for,  towards  allayinp;*^  the  env}'  your  or- 
der has  been  suhjcct  to,  and  removin;;  tiie  iiiiputations'* 
against  trials,  is  efi'ectualiy  put  in  your})uwer.  An  opin- 
ion has  lon^  prevaih^d,  not  only  h^re  at  iiome,  but  hke- 
^vise  in  foreign  countries,  botli  dangerous  to  you,  and 
pernicious  to  the  state, — that,  in  prosecutions^/"  men  of 
wealth  are  always  safe,  however  clearly  convicted.^ 

2.  There  is  now  to  l)e  brought  upon  his  tridi  before 
you,  to  the  conru>ion,  1  hope,  of  the  j^ropa^aters^  of 
t*iis  slanderous'  imputation,  one  v.  hoFc  life  and  actions 
condejiin  him  in  th(!  opinion  of  all  im}»arlial  persons;  but 
v^ho,  accordJuji;  to  his  own  reckoning;  and  declared  de- 
}w'iidcrice  upon  f)is  rjches,  is  already  aci[iiitte(i  ;^  I  mean 
Caius  V^trres.  1  deriiind  justice  oi  you,  leathers,  unoii 
the  robber  of  the  public  treasury,  the  opprissor  of  Asia 
rdinor  and  Pamphyha,*  tlie  invader  of  the  rights  and  pri- 
vile;;e5!,  of  iwomans,  the  scourj^e-  and  curse  of  t^icily. 

8.  If  that  sentence  is  passtd  upon  liim  which  his  crimes 
desorve,  yotir  autliority,«  Fathers,  Aviil  be  venerable  and 
sacred  in  the  eyt*s  of  tlie  public  ;  but  if  his  i^reat  riches 
should  biaS"  3'ou  in  iiis  favom-,  I  shall  still  j;ain  one  point, 
to  make  it  apparent  to  all  the  world,  that  wjiat  was  want- 
ing: in  this  case,  was  not  a  criminal  nor  a  prosecutor,"  bat 
justice  and  adt.<}uate  })unishment. 

4.  Tf»  puss  ovt'r  ihe  shanM>fMl  irrepjidaritiesp  of  his 
youth,  what  does  his  rpiiestoi-bhip,?  the  /irst  public  employ- 
iTipnt  he  held,  what  docs  it  exhibit,  but  one  contmued 
scene  of  vilkuiies  ]  ('neius  Carbo,'-  plundered  of  the  pub- 
lic money  by  hii'own  treasurer,*  a  counsel  stripped  and 
betrayed,  an  army  deserted  and  reduced  to  want,  a  pro- 
vince robbed,  the  civil  and  religious  rights  of  a  people  vi- 
oh.tL'd.' 

5.  The  employment  he  held  in  Asia  Minor  and  Pam- 
phyliu,  V.  hat  did  it  produce  but  the  ruin  of  those  coun- 
tries ?  in  wliich  houses,  cities,  and  temples,  were  robbed 
by  him.     Whi\:  was  his  cgnduct  in  his  pcaRtorship  hef« 


143  IJl.NOJLisn  P^EmI^kh,  ^art,  \, 

Ht  home  Let  the  plundered  temples,  and  public  \¥ork§ 
nep;lcct€d.  that  lie  miglit  wiibezzle'*  the  money  intended 
for  carrying;  them  on,  bear  witness.  How  did  he  dis- 
cliarge  the  office  of  a  judj^e?  Let  those  wiio  suffered  by 
his  injustice  answer.  ^-iJut  liis  przelorship  in  Sicily  crowns 
i\\\  his  works  of  wicked  nets,  and  finishes  a  lasting  monu- 
ment to  his  infamy. 

C,  The  mischiePs  done  by  him  in  that  unhappy  coun- 
try, during  the  three  years  of  his  inicjuitious  administra- 
tion, are  such,  that  many  years,  under  the  wisest  and 
heat  of  prietors,  will  not  be  suHicient  to  restore  things  to 
the  conaition  in  which  he  found  them  ;  for  it  is  notorious, 
that,  during  the  time  of  his  tyranny,  the  Sicilians"  neither 
tjnjoyed  the  protection  of  their  own  original  laws  ;  of  the 
regulations  made  for  their  benefit  by  the  Koman  senate, 
upon  their  coming  under  the  protection  of  the  common- 
wealth ;  nor  of  tlie  natural  and  unalienable'*  rights  of 
men. 

7.  His  nod  has  decided  all  causes  in  Sicily  for  these 
tliree  years.  And  his  decisions  have  broken  all  laws,  all 
precedent,*  all  right.  The  sums  he  has,  by  arbitrary* 
taxes  and  unheard-of  impositions,  extorted  from  the  in- 
dustrious poor,  are  not  to  be  computed.*  The  most  faith- 
ful allies*  of  the  commonwealth  have  been  treated  as  en- 
emies. 

8.  Roman  citizens  have,  like  slaves,  been  put  to  death 
with  tortures.  The  most  atrocious**  criminals,  for  mo- 
ney, have  !>een  exempted^  from  the  deserved  punish- 
j)3ents  ;  and  men  of  the  most  unexceptionable^^  characters, 
condemned  and  banished  unheard.  The  harbours,* 
though  sufficiently  fortified,  and  the  gates  of  strong  towns, 
have  been  open  to  pirates/  and  ravagers.e 

9.  The  soldiery  and  sailors,  belonging  to  a  province 
under  the  protection  of  the  commonwealth,  have  been 
starved  to  death ;  whole  fleets,  to  the  great  detriment* 
of  the  province,  suffered  to  perish.  The  ancient  monu- 
ments of  either  Sicilian  or  Roman  greatness,  the  gtatuci 
of  heroes  and  princes,  have  been  carried  off;  and  the 
temples  stripped  of  the  images. 

10.  Having,  by  bis  iniquitous  sentences,  filled  thepr]»- 
one  with  the  most  industrious  and  deserving  of  the  peo- 
plcy  he  then  proceeded  to  order  numbers  of  Roman  cit- 
izens to  be  strangled  in  the  gaols  :  so  that  the  exclama* 
tion,*  **I  am  a  citizen  of  RoLoe  '*'  which  has  oftep,  \u  th* 
most  distant  regions,  and  among  theroofft  barbarous  peo- 


Cha^  IL  Tvnht€  SricKcNM.  »49 

pie,  been  a  protection,  was  of  no  service  to  them  ;  hul, 
Qn  th«i  contrary,  broug;ht  a  bpti:dicr  and  a  luoitt  htver« 
punishment  upon  them. 

11.  J  ask  now,  Verres,  what  thou  hast  to  advance  »- 
gainst  this  charge?  Wilt  thou  pretend  to  deny  it?  Wilt 
thou  pretend  that  any  thin^j  false,  that  even  any  thing 
R*;graviited  is  alle<;Td^  ap;ainst  thee  ?  liad  any  prince  or 
any  slate,  committed  the  same  outrage  against  the  privi- 
lege of  Roman  citizens,  should  we  not  thmk  we  had  suf- 
ficient around  lor  demandinjn;  satisfaction  ? 

12.  What  puni'jhnientouglit,  then,  to  be  inflicted  upon 
&  tyrannical  and  wick('d  praetor,  wiio  dared,  at  no  great- 
er distance  than  hiciiy,  within  sight  ol  the  Italian  coast 
to  put  to  the  infamou's  death  of  cruciiixion,*  that  unfortu 
nate  and  innocent  citizen,  ruhlius  (xavius  Cosanus.'  only 
for  his  having  asserted  l)is  priN  ilepicr  of  citizensliip,  r.ntl 
declared  his  intention  of  anpt:ar'»'":;  to  the  jiistice  tif  iiiii 
country,  against  the  crui  l' opprtssor,  wiio  had  unjustly 
confined  him  in  prison  at  Syracuse,-'  wiience  he  had  jus»t 
made  his  escape. 

IS.  The  unhappy  man,  arn\'^ted  as  lie  was  going  to  em- 
bark for  his  native  country,  i^  hrouglit  before  the  wicked 
praetor.  With  eyes  darting  fury,  and  a  cnui.tenance  di^4- 
torted  with  cruelty,  he  orders  the  helnless  victim  «)f  liii 
rage  to  be  stripped,  aixd  r<Kls  t/)  f)e  brought :  accusing 
him,  but  withoiil  the  Jeast  shadow  of  evidence,  ur  even 
of  suspicion,  of  having  come  t^»  t^jeily  as  a  spy. 

14.  it  was  in  vain  iliat  the  uLha|  j-y  man  ci'icd  out,  *•  I 
am  a  lioiTian  citizen  :  ll^ne  f^erv^Mi  under  J.ucius  l*re- 
tius,«  who  is  tiow  ill  Pa  norm  us,-*  and  will  attest^*  my  inno- 
cence." The  blood-thirsty  pr£Etor,  deaf  to  all  he  could 
urge  in  his  own  xlefence,  ordered  the  iufamous  punish- 
ment to  be  inflicted. 

15.  Thus,  fatiiers,  was  an  innocent  Roman  citizen  pub- 
licly mangled  with  scourging:  whihit  the  only  wortfs  hn 
uttered,  amids^t  his  cruel  sulVerings,  W(  re,  "  1  am  a  Ro- 
man citizen  !"  A\  ith  thrse,  he  hoped  to  defend  himself 
from  violence  and  infamy.  lUit  of  ^o  little  service  was 
this  privilejre  to  him,  that,  whilst  he  was  thus  assertini; 
his  cjtizenship,  the  order  was  given  for  his  execution,— 
for  his  execution  upon  the  cross  I 

16.  O  liberty  I— O  sound  once  delightful  to  every  Ro- 
man ear  ! — O  sacred  privilege  of  Roman  ritizen^jhip  — 
once  sacred  i — now  tram)>1ed  upon  ! — Rut  wha^  then  !  li 
k  oom«  to  this  ?   Shall  an  inferiors  macistrttte,"  a  covewi- 

N  i 


leo 


PT^(OLI8M    KSADCa. 


Ptrrt  I. 


or,  irlio  hoMs  hh  whoU)  prnver  of  the  Roman  people,  in 
a  Roman  prv»viucts  vvil'l\iii  si^ht  of  Italy,  bind,  scourge, 
torture  with  t\vi>.  and  red  hot  plates  of  iron,  and  at  la^t 
put  to  the  infamous  deatli  of  the  cross,  a  Roman  citiz«;n  ? 

J.7.  Skhll  ncith(M*  eh»*  ciiK-.s  of  innoc'nce  expiring  in  ajr- 
ony,  nor  the.  tears  oi'  pityinc;  e<{)^ctators,  nor  the  majesty 
of  the.  Roni.tn  commc^nneaitb,  noi-  ihfi  f^^ars  of  the  jus- 
tice of  his  country,  r-Htniin  tlie  h'^^ntious  and  wanton 
cruelty  of  a  monsri-;',  whu),  in  corif.dence  of  his  riches, 
strikes  at  the.  rt)ot  of  liherty,  and  sets  mankind  at  defiance  i 

13.  I  conclud*^  witii  expressin:;  my  linp.'s,  that  yoiir 
wisdom  an/l  justice,  fathers,  will  not,  by  si.jffe.ring  the  a- 
trocious  and  unexamph;d  insolence  of  Caius  Vcrres  to  es- 
cape due  punishme.!t,  h^ave  room  to  ap}jreh<.  nd  the  dan- 
ge '  of  a  total  subversion'  of  authority,  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  gciicra!  anarch.y  and  confuruon. 

ClCERO'S  OKATI       ■  j. 


a  A?l-hr>r-I)al,  /..I  luV'-b,'»L  sunof  Midp- 

SM,  ami  ;jruiulsiMi  of  Masiiilssa,  jtu 

I.)  ilomh  by  Jiiyurilia 
b  J'.j-gurtha,  jiijj.ir  -tlii,   \ho    il!(\!?iti 

n.nttj  Koii  t>!"  JViuunsiUibal,  broilier  of 

Micipsa 
e  Mi  rip-riii,  mk-iAft'  s4,   a  king  of  Nu 

nj'ulia,  soil  oi'  M:i.-<iui.sy;i 
d  Com  J!jiu-l  ly,  kin-jftnkt'-l^.  Jointly 
«  lii-«ni|--fal,  lie^m-8&l,  ii  king  of  Nu- 

niiuia 
/  Nu-i:»iil-i-a,  nfr  mM'-^'i,    an   itiland 

ciwintJy  of  Aftica,  iiu\v  iho  kiii^' 

flom  of  Airjiers 
f  Pro-pri-e  lor,  \)>6  jirl'-A-tSr,  in'ssessor 

ii)  Ills  own  VL'M 
k  Mn»«-i-nirt-sa,  WAs'A-h!^'-tA,  a  king  of 

u  small  part  uf  AlVira 
I  So-lx-it,  lii-ils    i.'.,  to  eiitr<»'ir,  c.vci'.« 
7  Arj-r.'.'S  tor,  k>\'  ^ht>.-ttir.  a  furef;ifl»«tr 
k  Bui-d'innorwe.b&r'-ii'u-aOiu, grievous, 

troiiblcHonu* 
I  Ne-r,«;F  si-iy,  ii^-KSs'-si-tA,  compulsion 

want,  povcriy 
at  Rc-sont-mflrit,  rA-zSni'-mSnt,  a  deej> 

scn.-'e  oi"  '.ij'iry 
n  Ex-|)rel,  eka-i»gr,  to  drive  out,  bunisli 
o  Sy-plmx,  fcl'-fAk.'?,  a  kin^j  of  il.e  Ala- 

gaoHylii  tn  Lybya 
p  Car-tiiH-giu-i-an,  ks.r-tJiA-j!n -n^  4n,n 

native  ii'  Canhn-je 
f  Do-fe.Hl,  d<^-)"At»<',  dcfctructioft.  to  ovfgr- 

Uuow,  to  ueitfojr  ' 


SECTION  11. 

Can  ;jr'Jt-!i  latR,  kin-grilah'  6-IAte,  to 

coiiiphjiifru  upon  any  iiat)py  event 

k{  Dretu-li,  drt^-nsh,  to  Kouk,  steep,  phy- 


Hiok 
t  Ptil-Kco,  p4r-!As.  H  royal  ecWJico 
u  frn  brue.  ?ni-br<55',  :o  neop,  souk 

0  Reck,  rt'^k,  l<j  t^itioke,  stuam,  exbalo, 
to  emit  vapou"" 

ic  Mu-tu-al,  nii'-tshfi-    ,  reciprocal,  e- 

qual 
X  Duii-gf'oo,  di5n'-j?.H,  a  dark  loathsome 

prisua 
y  hn-^ol-er-a -hJc,  hi-t6r  l^r-4-bl,  inrsnf- 

forabie,  not  io  be  endured,  bad  be- 

yor.il  sujToranf*u 

1  Tn-tru  d«;r,  !ntr<)6'-dur,  ore  who  for- 
CR«  liiuiaolf  inio  compa.'jy 

fi  Iri-pia-u-a-tjjn,  !n-t,ln-nu  i'-sliin,  the 

)iovvcr  of  pleasing 
'*  Eiii-is  sar-y,  Ani'-ls-sir-ri,  a  spy,  a  so- 

trcl  agent 
a  Von-.^i'!MH;e.    v<^n'-j4nj»c,  punishment, 

pMHul  retribiuion 
/  Dis  sfMnble,   dTs-s^ni'-bl,   to  deceive 

by  fal.ve  app'carjincei* 
p.  laj-pioiis.ti.i -p^-H};,  wicked,  profane 
/  Ex-ilo,  ^^ks'-Ue,  baiji.sbnienr,  a  pcrsoa 

ban  is  bed 
4'-  U-»-urp-er,  yii-z5rp'-ftr,  one  who  8©«- 

7.CS  anothsr's  rijrbt 
h  Ar-bi-ter,  ir'-b^-tlr,  a  ju^^e  to  whom 

parties  gubiuii 


Ot0p.  0.  Pttbekj  Brss<ns£s.  ts51 

Speech  c/  Aj^h^khal*  to  the  Roman  SenaU^  fmpiorhtg  rik> 

protection  against  Jugurtha*. 
Fathers! 

1.  It  is  known  to  you,  that  kinr  Micip3a,«  my  ftithor, 
on  liis  death-bed,  left  m  charjije  to  Jugurtha,  his  ndoptefll 
Bon,  conjunctly^  witii  my  iHifnrtUMnte  brother  Hiempsal* 
and  myseif,  the  children  of  his  own  body,  the  adminis* 
tFiilion  of  the  kingdom  of  Numidia^/"  directing  us  to  con* 
sider  tlie  senate  and  people  of  Jlome  as  proprietors*'  of  iu 
lie  charged  us  to  u^e  our  host  endeavours  to  be  servicea- 
ble to  the  Roman  commonwealth  :  assuring  us,  that  jout 
protection  would  prove  a  defence  against  all  enemies; 
and  would  be  instead  of  armies,  fortiiications,  and  treas- 
ures. 

2.  While  my  brother  and  I.  were  thinking  of  nothinj; 
but  how  to  regulate  ourselves  according  to  the  directions 
of  our  deceased  father — Jugurtha — the  most  infamous  of 
mankind  ! — breaking  throu}:;ii  all  tics  of  gratitude  and 
of  common  humanity,  and  trampling  on  the  authority  of 
the  Roman  commonwealth,  procured  the  murder  of  my 
unfortunate  brother;  and  has  driven  me  from  my  throne 
and  native  country,  though  he  knows  1  inherit,  from  my 
grandfather  Masmissa/''and  my  father  Micipsa,  the 
friendsliip  and  alliance  of  the  Romans. 

5.  For  a  prince  to  be  reduced,  by  villany,  to  my  dis- 
tressful circumstances,  is  calamity  enough  ;  but  my  mis- 
fortunes are  heightened  by  the  consideration — that  I  find 
p-iyself  obliged  to  solicit'  your  assistance,  fathers,  for  the 
services  done  you  by  my  ancestors,-^  not  for  any  I  have 
been  able  to  render  you  in  my  own  per<(on.  Jugurtha 
has  nut  it  out  of  my  power  to  deserve  any  thing  at  your 
hanfis;  and  has  forced  me  to  be  burdensome,*  before  1 
could  be  useful  to  you. 

4.  And  yet,  if  1  had  no  plea,  but  my  undeserved  naia- 
ery — a  once  powerful  prince,  the  descendant  of  a  race  of 
illu??trious  monarchs,  now,  w^ithout  any  fault  of  my  own, 
destitute  of  every  support," and  reduced  to  the  necessity' 
of  begging  foreign  assistance,  against  an  enemy  who  has 
seized  my  throne  and  my  kingdom. — if  my  unequalled 
distresses  were  all  I  had  to  plead — it  would  become  the 
greatness  (»f  the  Roman  commonwealth,  to  protect  the 
injured,  and  to  check  the  triumph  of  daring  wickedne«i^ 
over  hf-lpless  innocence. 

i.  l^ut,  to  provoke  your  resentment*  to  the  otinos^ 
Jugurtha  has  driren  me  '(ntm  the  very  dominions,  whicE^ 


Ml  fi.'VOLItM    ItSADKB.  JF\frl   1.^ 

|h«  veBatd  and  people  of  Rome  gave  to  mj  ancestors  • 
jfcrid»  (roin  which,  my  ffrandfaiher,  and  iny  lather,  rnldei: 
your  unHjrage,  expelled"  Syphax"  and  the  Carthaginians?. 
Thus,  fatliers,  your  kindness  to  our  family  is  defeated?; 
and  Jugurlha,  in  injurinf^-  me,  throws  contempt  upon  you. 
0.  O  wretched  prince  !  Oh  cruel  reverse  of  fortune  ! 
Oh  ffither  Micipsa  !  is  this  the  consequence  of  tny  ^en- 
•srosity  ;  that  he,  whom  tliy  goodness  raised  to  an  equality 
with  thy  own  children,  should  be  the  murderer  of  thy 
children  ?  Must,  them,  the  royal  house  of  Numidia  always 
\t^.  a  scene  of  liavoc  and  blood  1  While  Carthage  remain- 
««i,  we  suffered,  as  was  to  bo  expected,  all  sorts  of  hard- 
inips  from  their  hostile  attacks;  our  enemy  near ;  oujr 
only  powerful  ally,  the  Roman  commonweaftii,  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

7.  When  that  scourge  of  Africa  was  no  more,  we  coa- 
tratulated'"  ourselves  on  the  prospect  of  established  peace. 
But,  instead  of  peace,  behold  the  kingdom  of  Numidia 
drenched*  with  royal  blood  !  and  the  only  surviving  son 
of  its  late  king,  flying  from  an  adopted  murderer,  and 
seeking  that  safetyin  foreign  parts,  which  he  cannot  com- 
mand in  his  own  kingdom. 

8.  Whither— Oh  !  whither  shall  I  fly  ?  If  1  return  to 
the  royal  palace'  of  my  ancestors,  my  father's  throne  is 
seized  by  the  murderer  of  my  brother.  What  can  I 
there  expect,  but  that  Jugurtha  should  hasten  to  imbrue,* 
in  «my  blood,  those  hands  which  are  now  reeking"  wi^^h 
my  brother's  ?  If  1  were  to  fly  for  refuge,  or  for  assistance 
to  any  other  court,  from  what  prince  can  1  hope  for  pro- 
tection, if  the  Raman  commonvveaUh  ^ive  me  up  l  From 
my  own  family  or  friends  1  have  no  expectations. 

9.  My  royal  father  is  no  more,  ile  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  violence,  and  out  of  hearing  of  the  complaints 
of  his  unhappy  son.  Were  my  brother  alive,  our  mutuaiv 
sympathy  would  be  some  alleviation.  i3ut  he  is  hurried 
out  of  life,  in  his  early  youth,  by  the  very  hand  which 
should  have  been  the  last  to  bijure  any  of  the  royal  fa- 
inil}''  of  Numidia. 

10.  The  bloody  Juj^urtha  has  butchered  all  whom  he 
suspected  to  be  in  my  interest.  Some  have  been  destroy- 
ed by  the  lingering^  torment  of  the  cross.  Others  hame 
been  given  a  prey  to  wild  beas>s  ;  and  their  anguish  mado 
the  pport  of  men,  more  cruel  than  wild  beasts.     If  there 

'4>eany  >et  alive,  they  ar^  abut  up  in  dungeons**  there  to 
4a^g  out  a  \ih  more  intplerabie/  tha.|i  d^tkUi  ttaeiL 


Chap,  a.  Fl'blic  Spjekchxs.  Ids 

11.  Look  do«vn,  Illustrious  senators  of  Rome  I  from 
that  height  of  power  to  whUh  you  are  raised,  on  the  un- 
ex**nipled  distresses  of  a  prince,  who  is,  hy  the  cruelty  of 
a  wicked  iulrudjT,:  hecome  an  outcast  fro'ni  all  mankind. 
Let  iiot  the  crafty  insinuations*  o*f  him  who  returns  mur- 
der for  adoption,  prejudice  your  judgment.  Do  not  lis- 
ten to  the  wretch  who  has  hutcliered  the  son  and  rela- 
tions of  a  kin^,  who  gave  him  power  to  sit  on  the  same 
throne  with  his  own  sons. 

12.  1  have  heen  i{)formed,  that  he  labours  by  his  emis- 
saries'' to  prevent  your  dctermi^jing  any  thnig  against  him 
ki  his  absence ;  pretending  that  1  magnify  my  distress, 
and  might  for  him,  have  staid  in  peace  in  mv  own  king- 
dom. l5ut,  if  ever  the  time  comes,  when  the  due  ven- 
gcance*-  from  above  sh'dl  overtake  him,  he  will  then  dis- 
sembierf  as  I  do.  Then  he,  who  now,  iiardened  in  wick- 
edness, triumphs  over  those  whom  his  violence  has  laid 
low,  will,  in  hiii  turn,  feel  distress,  and  suffer  for  his  im- 
pious' ingratitude  to  my  father,  and  his  blood-thirsty 
cruelty  to  my  brother. 

13.  Oh  murdered,  butchered  bpother !  Oh,  dearest  to 
my  heart — now  gone  forever  from  my  sight  I — but  why 
should  I  lament  his  death  ?  He  is,  indeed,  deprived  of  th« 
blessed  light  of  heaven,  of  life,  and  kingdom,  at  once,  hy 
the  very  person  who  ought  to  have  been  the  first  to  haz- 
ard his  own  life,  in  defence  of  any  one  of  Micipsa's  fam- 
ily. But,  as  things  are,  my  brother  is  not  so  much  de- 
prived of  these  comforts,  as  delivered  from  terror,  from 
night,  from  exile,/  and  the  endless  train  of  miseries 
wnich  render  life  to  me  a  burden. 

14.  He  lies  full  low,  gored  with  wounds,  and  festerinj^ 
in  his  own  blood,  hut  he  lies  in  peace.  He  feels  none 
of  the  miseries  which  rend  my  soul  with  agony  and  dis- 
traction, while  I  am  set  up  a  spectacle  to  all  mankind,  of 
(the  uncertainty  of  human  affitirs.  So  far  from  having  it 
in  my  power  Ip  punish  his  murderer,  1  am  not  master  of 
:the  means  of  securing  my  own  life.  So  far  from  being  in  a 
condition  to  defend  my  kingdom  from  the  violence  of 
ithe  usurper,?  I  am  obliged  to  apply  for  foreign  protec- 
ttion  for  my  own  jperson. 

15.  Fathers!  Senators  of  Rome !  the  arbiters*  of  na- 
tions !  to  you  I. fly  for  refuge  from  the  murderous  fury  of 
Jugurtha.  By  your  affection  for  your  children  ;  by  your 
flove  for  your. country  ;  by  your  own  virlyes ;  by  the  ma- 
lesty  of  th«  ^oman  commonwealth :  bj  a|^i  that  is  sacred. 


M 


KnOLISH    JljCAMXR. 


Ptifi  % 


and  all  that  ts  dear  to  you — deHvor  a  w notched  prince 
froitt  undeserved,  unprovoked  injury;  and  save  (he  king- 
dom of  Numidiii,  which  h  your  own  pro}>erty»  iVom  be- 
ing tike  prey  of  violence,  usurpation,  and  cruelty. 

SALJLUSt. 


A  A-po9-tlo,  A-pi«'-sl,   applied  to   ilifUi 
\vho;n  mi(  Saviuur  bt-iii  to  prf;Hr}i 

rod  Agri|.pa 
e  I'er-iiiit,  p«ir-ir.U',  to  nllow,  to  suflVr 
d  K-»pec-ial-ly,    6  sp2sli'-il-l^,    prMici- 

pnlly,  cliielly 
»  Pa-ti*iiil-ly,  pi.' sh^iit-l^,  calmly,  with 

out  rage  under  p.-tio  or  affliction 
/  TeA-ti  fy,  tga'-l^-f't  to  wiiueas,  {rrove 
jr  Pliar-i-AOti,  fir'-iiSi-sA.  a  !)yi»ocfi;e 
k  In-ore(l-i-b!c,  !n  kicd'  6  bl,  not  to  be 

credittifl 
i  Naz-a-relh,  nith'-A-i&Lli,  tiio  naino  ot" 

a  city 
j  Syn-a-gogue,    »!n'-A-g6g,    a    Jewisli 

church 
k  Blaij-  phetnc,  bUs-fr-tue',  to  speak  wit! 

irreverence  of  God 
I  Ex-cce-ding  iy,   Sk-Hci'-d!ng-l^,  to  a 


SECTION  III. 

gifat  dcjjrpe 


Per  i^y-cuie,  pAr'-si-kiife,  to  purHue 

wiUi  maiijfui'.y 
Jour-uey,  jur'-ni,  to  travel  from  place 

lo  pljici!,  a  pajiHiijfe 
Ko-c«'ive.  r^H^v*-',  to  take  or  oVitHJn 
I  For-give  ness,  f5r-{.1v'-nfi3,  the^  act  of 

toiglVlI,^' 

In  l.or-il  ance,  In  hSr'-r!t-inss,  a  pat- 
rimony 
Vis-ion,  vV/.!i'-?i!i,  sight,  aphnnfnrrt 
Oh-iain,  ('.•l>-".4nu',  to  gain,  procure 
Per  snude,  p^r-svvide',  ip  briii^  loan 
opiuiiin 
',  Per-il-oiis,  p?;r'-rll-!fts.  danijerou» 
I  Coin-po-fc.uie,  kiiji  p6'-zL6re,  anaiigo- 

lufjiit,  order 
0  E-si)ou-o,  e-sj)6uze',  to  betroth,  wed, 
dul'ciid 


S%e  Apostlk«  Paul's  nohh  deftnce  hejbre   Festus  and 

AixRIPPA.^ 

1.  Agrippa  said  unto  ]^m!,  thou  art  permittedc  to  speak 
for  thyself. — Then  Paul  stretched  ft^rth  his  hand,  ana  an- 
swered lor  himself. — 1  think  myself  happy,  kinj^  Agrip- 
pa, because  1  siinll  answer  for  myself  this  day  before 
thee,  concerninp^  ail  the  thinpjs  Avhereof  1  am  accused  by 
the  Jews  ;  especially,-^  as  1  know  thee  to  be  expert  in  all 
customs  and  questions  which  are  amon^  the  Jews. — 
Wherefore  1  bestiech  thee  to  hear  me  j)ationtly. 
•  2.  My  manner  of  life  from  my  youth,  which  was  at 
the   first  among  my  own   nation   at  Jerusalem,  know  all 


the  Jews  ;  who  knew  me  from  the  'l)e^ 


(if  they 


would  testify,/^  that  after  the  straitest  sect  of  our  religion, 
I  •lived  a  Pharisee.-  And  now  I  stand  and  am  judged 
for  the  hope  of  the  promise  made  by  God  to  our  fathers  ; 
to  which  promise,  our  twelve  tribes,  continually  serving 
God  day  and  night,  hope  to  come:  and,  for  thic*  hope's 
sake,  king  Agrippa,  I  am  accused  b}r  the  Jews. 

3.  W4iy  should  it  be  thought  a  thing  incrediMe*  with 
you,  that  God  should  raise  the  dead  ?  i  verily  though 


Tdth  myaetf,  that  I  ouoht  to  do  many  ttitn^  oootrRry  t^ 
tlif.  name  of  Jesus  o;'  Nazareth  ;•  and  this  1  did  in  Jeril- 
^alem.  Many  of  the  siiints  1  shut  up  in  priHon,  having 
received  authority  from  the  chief  priestss*  and  Avhenlbey 
were  put  to  death,  I  jjave  mv  voice  against  them. 

4.  And  I  often  punished  them  in  every  synagogue,/ and 
compelled  them  to  blaspheme  ;*  and  being  exceedingljM 
mad  against  them,  I  persecuted^  them  even  unto  strange 
cities.  But  as  I  went  to  Dajiiascus,  >vith  authority  and 
commission  from  the  chief  pn^'sts,  at  mid-daj',  O  king  ! 
1  saw  in  the  way  a  light  from  heaven,  above  the  bright- 
ness of  the  sun,  shining  round  about  me,  and  them  who 
iourneyed"  with  me. 

5.  And  when  we  were  all  fallen  to  the  earth,  I  heard  a 
voice,  speaking  to  me  and  sayin,*^,  in  the  Hebrew  tongue, 
Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  tnou  me  ?  It  is  hard  for  thee 
to  kick  against  tne  pricks.  And  I  said,  who  art  thou. 
Lord?  And  he  replied,  I  am  Jesus  whom  thou  porscMiut- 
est. 

6.  But  rise,  and  stand  upon  thy  feet :  for  1  hare  ap- 
peared to  thee  for  this  purjiose,  to  make  thee  a  minister, 
and  a  witness  both  of  these  things,  which  thou  hast  seen, 
and  of  those  things  in  which  I  will  appear  to  tiiee  ;  de* 
livering  thee  from  the  people,  and  from  the  0(t'ntile«,  to 
whom  J  now  send  thee,  to  open  their  eye?,  and  to  tuna 
them  from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power  of  h>^ 
tan  to  God  ;  that  they  may  receive^  forgiveness^  of  fiins« 
and  inheritance?  amongst  them  who  are  6.inctified  by  fnilh 
that  is  in  me. 

7.  Whereupon,  O  kin™  Agrippa  !  1  was  not  disobedi- 
ent to  the  heavenly  virion  ;'*  but  showed  -first  t<i  thwrn  of 
Damascus,  and  at  Jerusalem,  and  through  all  the  coasts 
of  Judea,  and  then  to  the  Gentiles,  that  they  should  re- 
pent, and  turn  to  God,  and  do  works  meet  for  repentance. 
For  these  causes,  the  Jews  caught  me  in  ttm  temple  j 
and  went  about  to  kill  me. 

8.  Having,  however,  obtained'  help  from  God,  I  con» 
tinue  to  this  daj,  witnessing  botii  to  small  and  great,  say- 
ing no  other  things  than  those  which  the  prophets  and 
Moses  declared  should  come  ;  that  Christ  fcliould  suffer  ; 
that  he  would  be  the  first  who  should  rise  from  the  dead  ; 
and  that  he  would  show  light  to  the  people,  and  to  iUa 
Gentiles. 

?.  And  aa  he  thus  spoke  for  himself,  Fe«tu»  fn\'ni  wi^ 
a  If  ud  Toice,  '*  Taul,  thou  art  beside  tliyself ;  xtkici    janii-' 


1»6 


C^atiBR  Keades. 


Prm  r 


i|»g  hath  iiMide  thee  tnad.*^  But  he  replied,  1  am  ntn 
mad,  most  noble  Festus;  but  speak  the  words  of  truth 
and  soberness.  For  the  kin^  knoweth  these  things,  be- 
fore whom  I  also  speak  freely.  I  am  pursuadea*  that 
none  of  these  things  are  hidden  from  him  :  for  this  thing 
was  not  done  in  a  corner.. 

10.  King  Agrjppa,  believest  thou  the  prophets  ?  I 
know  that  thou  believes^t.  Then  Agrippa  said  to  Paul, 
*•  Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian.**  And 
Paul  replied,  **  I  would  to  God,  that  not  only  thou,  but 
also  all  tha.t  heax  me  this  day,  were  hothalmaat,  and  alto- 
i;ether  such  as  I  am,  except  these  bonds."* 

ACTS  XXVI. 


SECTION  IV. 


m  Ex-ton-pion,  ^ks-tSn'-shan,  the  ict  of 
extending 

n  Crim-i-na!,  kr!in'-i-nAl,  faulty,  guil- 
ty, a  guilty  person 

0  De-cis-inn,  di-Blzh'-6n,detern\iflation 
of  a  difference,  lermiisalion  of  an 
event 

p  Tinc-ture,  tlngk'-tshire,  colow,  ex- 
tract, to  imbue  the  raind,  to  colour 

q  A-bon»  i-na-ble,  a-b4m'-i-n4-bl,Uato- 
fui,  deteutable 

r  Im  nie-di-«te-Iy,  lm-mi'-dA-4t-l*,  in- 
stantly, without  the  intervention  o( 
any  other  cauAO  or  event 

j»  De-iier-ve4:ly,d6-z4r'-vAd-14,  accord- 
ing; to  desert 

(  A;>-plau^e,  4p-plA'Ar',  approbatloB 
loudiy  exprcKsecJ 

u  Fraught,  friwt,  laden,  charged 
f.pungyJD  Ad-vo-cate,    4d'-vi-k4te,   a  lawyer, 
one  who  defend;  a  ra^^jp. 

io  Cal-cu  laic,  kAl'-k^'lat4),tocompute» 
recfcoQ 


«  Ma^-ni-^ade,  mlLg'-n^-t&de,  greatness, 

kiKe 
Im-mu-ni-ty,  Im-mi'-ni-t^,  privilege, 

•xemplign 
«Te-na*ciouii,ti>ni'-i^&S:gra8pingj()ard, 

eohegive 
iPre-pon-der-ate,  prA-p6n'-d4f-ile,  to 

outweigh 
4  Priv-i-lege,  pr!v'-vi-Hdje,  peculiar  ad 

vantage 
/  Jodic-ial.  ji-dlnh'-Al,  practised  in  the 

distribution  of  ptJblic  justice 
g  In-vid-i-UB,  !n-vld -'A-fis,  or  1n-v1d'-jA- 

fi«,  enviotib,  malignant,  likely  to  in- 
cur hatred 
k  llan-u  fac-tu-rer,   min-nii-fAk'-tsh6 

rSr,  a  workmen,  an  artificer 
•  Boj-e-cism,  sAl'-fe-atzm,  unfitucKs  of  one 

word  to  another 
J  Mush-room,  mfiBh-rAAm', 

plant,  an  up>^tart 
?er-ma-neni,  p6r'-mA-nJnt,  durable, 

laating 
1  Huz-za,  hiiz-zk',  an  accldnaatioo 

Lord  Mansfiki^d's  speech  to  the  House  of  Peers,  1770,  ow 
preventing  the  delays  ofjttstice,  by  claming 


the    hill  for     yy,v,i/..,n,r-,.^        V..U    «ri 

the  Privilege  of  ParliamenU 


MY    LORDS, 

I.  WHE?r  I  consider  the  .importance  of  this  .bill  to  your 

•  How  happy  was  thiti  great  Apostle,  even  in  the  mostperilouHit  circurast8t>- 
eoi  !  Though  under  hondrf  and  opprcision.  his  naind  was  free,  and  raii»«d 
above  every  fear  of  man.  With  what  dignitv  and  coinix>sure  c  does  ho  defend 
^mwelf,  and  the  nobfe  cause  he  liad  e8poupo<)  \v)  whi'st  he  diiiplays  the  raovi 
^ompaMionate  and  genoreus  r$eiinn,  for  tbocv  who  vvre  ,strai;|;cn  to  tiwr 
^kbina  rttifioD  ^ij  wliich  ^«  was  ouTmal^ 


foatie  Sr«Kcu£s. 


long  possessed.  Perhaps  therejs  no  .'  . .,  "  J/'^'J'  '-'"e  been 
mind  can  be  placed  in,  tliatis  so  d'  ■  ,i/^'  ""t'oi!  tlie  human 
vhen  it  is  made  a  judge  in  its     ^,y;""'^"'"^  •''""  ^'>  ">  'ng.  as 

2.  There  is  something  i;  ^,^:^^/'^'"'!\-  , 
80  attached  to  »«If,  so  '^^^  .''"'«^^^  the  breast  of  man 
taincd,  that  in  such  ,,^  .k„a  "'  ^  ,r"'.'''^i?  """  "'- 
impartiality,  or  d.  -eiae  ,v  ,h  ?.' •  ^'^u"  '"  '^'V"^  «'th 
the^^summit  of  -.ai  human  vt^TTl  ^'''^,r''''  '''>*"  ''«''' 
tion  puts  yo.i  >  ordshU,s  in  th i.  '.'"  """'  '"  '!""='- 

res'  and'"Vh^n"  ''^^fbe^sn  granted  to  legislators  in  aU  a- 
iom^  ^L'  '^  ali  countries,     fhe  practice  isfound.d  in  wis- 

ther{«  may  come  a  (ime  .when  the  safety  andivelfa^/or 

VXieTdf:^^^^^^^^ 

,«l.i.ps  has,  I  am  confident,  no  such  tend"    ov  •  C  i    „,' 


196  Er^OtlSH   RSADEa.  flH,   t, 

rT  Tfiws  Tdt^*?""^  ^?'^  ^"^^^"^^  "^^  y^"^  fellow-subJectB  ?  For- 
bid itTus^ce  no ''^^^^^^^^^  noble  lirdsasw'n 
acquafnted  a^ss.  \  Tr^li^ltt^^lf-^^r^  diftculties  and  d(^ 

pi^vilei^e,  they  ^v'.unl'^'^  ^^^^^  "^J*  they  could  not,  oppose 

'  '*  1  have  waited  \n, '  w  P,lt^"i''.?,  ^*^  ^'^j^J  T^^^-^t  arguments 
.mi^ht  be  urged  agains^^t,  -i  ^"  '  ^^^  ^  '^'^^'^  waited  in 
vain:  the  truth  is,  there  is^^'^^^^^'S"!«^''^t  that  can  weigh 
against  it.  The  justice  and  e%  .^«:-diency  of  the  bill  are 
such  as  render  it  self-evident.  It  .  *'g  a  proposition  of  that 
nature,  which  can  neither  be  weakeu.^2.^  Jirgument,  nor 
entangled  with  sophistry.  Siut.h.  intr?*'^^'  ^i^is  been  said 
by  soine  noble  lords,  on  the  wisdom  oV -^  our  ancestors, 
and  how  differently  they, thought  from  us.    , 

8.  They  not  only  decreed,  that  privilege  sh  o^/M  prevent 
all  civil  suits  from  proceeding  during  the  sitaht"^©  of  par- 
liament, but  likewise  granted  protection  to  the  y^-ry  ser- 
Tants  of  members.  I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  \"visdom  of 
our  ancestors  ;  it  might  perhaps  appear  invidioier.is^  •  that 
is  not. necessary  in  the  present  case.  1  shall  orlo»Jy  say, 
that  the  noble  lords  who  flatter  themselves  wit  h  tho 
weight  of  that  reflection,  should  ^cmember,  that  J<;^^  ^i*** 
cumstances  alter,  things  themselves  should  alter.       Ji 

9.  Formerly,  it  was  not  so  fashionable  either  for  i  .pas- 
ters or  servants  to  run  in  debt,  as  it  is  at  present.  I  ^'or- 
merly,  we  were  not  that  great  commercial  nation  we  are 
at  present;  nor  formerly  were  merchants  and  manuf;I-'C- 
turers'^  members  of  parliament  as  at  present.  The  ca  sc 
is  now  very  different :  both  merchants  and  manufacturei  'S 
are,  Vrith  great  propriety,  elected  members  of  the  lowei' 
house.  Commerce  having  tiius  got  into  the  legislative 
body  of  the  kingdom,  prfvilege  must  be  done  away. 

10.  We  all  know,  that  the  very  soul  and  essence  of 
trade  are  regular  payments  ;  and  sad  experience  teaches 
us,  that  there  are  men,  who  will  not  make  their  regular 
payments  without  the  compulsive  power  of  the  laws. — 
The  law  then  ou;^ht  to  be  equally  open  to  all.  Any  ex-^ 
emption  to  particular  men,  or  particular  ranks  of  menJ 
is,  in  a  free  and  commercial  country,  a  solecism'  of  thff 
grossest  nature. 

1.  Rut  1  will  not  trouble  ^''our  lordships  with  argu-i 
ments  for  that,  which  is  sufficiently  evident  without  any.?! 
1  shall  only  say  a  few  words  to  some  noble  lords,  whof 
forese«  much  incouvenionce,  from  the  personi  of  iheli»| 


CIuip.  a.  Public  Steeches.  159 

■  tervants  hdivr  liable  to  be  anH!^ted.  Qvq  nob}«  Ion)  ob- 
eerres^  Th' -  the  coachman  ul  h  p».(fr  lui^y  bt»  arreyted, 
\^'hiie  ^  .  IS  drivli);;  his  mnfit<;r  to  Ibe  Ilow^^'*^  and  that, 
p^""    ^qiiently,  he  will  not  bt^  able  to  altnnd  bis  duty  Lu 

^I'liament. 
^  12.  If  this  were  actually  to  happpi],  therr^  are  fo  ma- 
By  methods  by  which  thf  m<'nibtr  n.i^^bt  siiTl  get  to  the 
house,  thatl  can  hardly  thii-k  the  noble  lord  is  serfrnw  ia 
his  objection.  Anotb«'V  noble  prrr  fiaid.  That,  by  this 
bill,  one  mi^htlose  his  nlo^t  v.Juible  and  honest  servants. 
This  I  hold  to  be  a  contradiction  in  terms  :  for  hn  Can 
neither  be  a  valuable  servant,  nor  an  hontsl  man,  \vho 
g('ts  into  debt  which  he  is  neilhtr  able  nor  vnlliiig  to  pAj', 
I  tiil  conipclh  d  by  the  law. 

I       IS.  ]f  my  si-rv.ipt,  \:y  nnforps^en   Rccidf'nts,  hns  j^ot 

I  into  debt,  and  1  still  v.  ish  to  retain  hirn,  1  certninly  would 

I  pay  the  demand.     J^>^t  npoii  no  princlpie  of  llhrral  legif- 

1  la^on   whatever,   can  my  Sfrvant  h.-.vo  a  title    to  set  hi.s 

n-i'ditors   at  defiance,   while,  for  forl^  shilliij^n  only,  thr 

ii(»M<:st  tradesman  maybe  torn  fii>ni  his  family,  andh)chr<\ 

n;*  in  a  gaol.     It  is  monstrous  injiV4ice  !   !  fi'attt^r  myself, 

however,  the  determination  of  tiiis  day  will  enlirely  put 

end  to  all  these  ])artial  j:-ro<*<Hdino;s  for  the  future,  by 

•m^  into  a  law  the  bill  now  umitr  \oi;r  lordships'  ccn 

1   ration. 

14.  I  come  now  to  speak,  upon  what,  indeed,  I  would 
have  gladly  avoided,  had  1  not  Uhmi  p;»rr"^cul3iiy  painteit 
at,  for  the  part  I  have  taken  in.  ibis  hill,  it  nas  bc»»n 
Bald,  by  a  noble  lord  on  my  lett  haod,  that  1  likewise  am 

hruiming  the  race  of  populaiily.  jf^tbe  luible  lord  means 
by  popularity,  that  applause  h«'f:LoW4<4  by  y^ifUT-a.us  i;i 
pood  and  virtuous  actions,  I  have  ion$c  been  sti-u^^Jin'^  in 

jthat  rac?  ;  to  %vhat  purpose,  all- trying  time  can  alone  de- 

Itermine. 

15.  But  if  the  noble  lord  mean'^  that  muf-broom/  pop- 
fubrity.  whidi  is  raised  without  merit,  ar^d  lo5-t  without  a 

<  'rne.  he  is  much   mistaken  in   hh  opinion.     1   defy  ih'r 

i  !e  k.rd  to  point  out  a  single  action  of  n.y  life;  in  which 
Im:- popul;-1^i^v  of  the  times  ever  h;-f\  th*'  smallest  infiu- 

<  tjr:»  on  my  (b^t'.rm.inations.  I  thank  God  I  have  a  (nor 
p^'^/nanenA  a-^.d  sTp:;xiy  rule  for  my  cocducl, — the  dii 
tates  of  my  ov.-ti  br;j;-'kt. 

16.  Those  who  have  forep;one  ihBt  pleasin;?;  aoviser 
and  given  \w  their  mind  to  be  tbo.  shrvo  of  every  popv 
ax  tmpul3e»  1  aiacere'y  pitj  i  I  pity  tliem  alJIi   more. 


their  vanity  WmU  tlumi  to  mistiko  the  shwiit^  of  a  mob, 
for  the  trmnprf  ofritnr.  MxnfritniO'  nilp^hi  iiifunii  thf.m, 
that  m.iny,  who  have  betiii  sahite.d  with  tiie  huzzas-  of  a 
crowd  one  day,  have  received  their  execrations  the  next; 
and  many,  wlio  by  the  y)t)}>iilfi.rity  of  th^ii'  times,  have 
hp.en  hcKi  up  as  spotU.'ss  patriots,  have,  iievertheU:ss,  ap- 
peared u])on  the  histori^m's  pa{i;e,  when  truth  has  tri- 
umphed over  dehision,  the  assassins  of  iiherty. 

17.  Why  then  the  noble  hjrd  can  think  I  am  ambitious 
of  present  popularity,  that  echo  of  ft)hyi  Jind  shadf)w  ot 
renown,  I  am  rift  a  h)S3  to  determine.  Besides,  1  do  not 
know  that  thebill  now  before  your  lordsliips,  will  be  po- 
pular :  it  depends  much  upon  t!ie  caprice  of  the  day. 

18.  It  may  not  be  pojjuUir  to  compel  people  to  pay 
their  debts  ;  and,  in  that  case,  the  present  must  be  a  ve- 
ry unpopular  hill.  It  may  not  be  popular  either  to  take 
away  any  of  the  privileji^es  of  parliament ;  for  1  very 
,well  remember,  and  many  of  your  lordships  may  re- 
member, that,  not  long  ago,  the  popular  cry  was  for  the 
€Xtensi(m'"  of  jirivilege,  and  so  far  did  they  carry  it  at 
that  time,  that  it  was  said,  the  privileg.i  protected  mem- 
;bers*even  in  criminal"  actions  ;  nay,  such  w<}s  the  power 
of  popular  prejudices  over  w^eak  minds,  that  the  very  de- 
cisions* of  sonic  of  the  courts^  were  tinctured''  with  lha,t 
doctrine. 

19.  It  was  undoubtedly  an  abominable^  doctrine.  1 
thought  so  then,  and  I  think  so  still :  but,  nevertheless, 
it  was  a  popular  doctrine,  and  came  immediately  fronj 
those  who  are  called  the  friends  of  liberty ;  how  deserv- 
edly,* time  will  show.  True  liberty,  in  my  opinion,  can 
only  exist  when  justice  is  equally  administerca  to  all ;  to 
the  kinj;  and  to  the  beggar. 

20.  VVhere  is  the  justice  then,  or  where  is  thelaw  thai 
protects  a  mernber'of  parliament,  more  than  any  other 
most  from  the  punishment  due  to  his  crimes  ?  The  laws 
of  thifj  country  allow  of  no  place,  nor  any  employment, 
to  be  a  sanctuary  for  crimes  ;  and  where  I  have  the  hon- 
our to  sit  as  judge,  neither  royal  favour,  nor  popular  ap- 
plause,' shall  protect  the  guilty. 

21.  I  have  now  only  to  beg  pardon  for  having  employ- 
ed so  much  of  your  lordships'  time;  and  i  am  sorry  a 
bill,  fraught**  with  so  many  good  consequences,  has  not 
met  with  an  abler  advocate :"  but  I  doubt  not  your  lord- 
ships' determination  will  convince  tlie  world,  Uiat  a  biji, 
tyilmilated"' t»  contribute  so  nnuch  to  the  equal  diBtribu- 


I 


don  of  ju9i1c«  as  the  present,  requires  with  your  lonl^ 
gliips  but  very  little  support. 


SECTION  V. 


I  Cor-rn-npond,  kAr-ri-tpJuir,  to  luH, 
keep  iJi»  romiuerco  by  lolterB 

m  rii-aiit,  iill'-&iit,  beiiUuig,  dextbl*, 
linibcf 

n  Pre-oc-cu-jiy,pr^-6k'-k6-iji,  tppreprti 

In-va-ri-a-bJo,1n-v4''r*-A-l)l, unchange- 
able 

p  Vtg-f-ia  ble,  vfd'-j»^-tft-L!,  bclongiof 
to  sIlhdrtH  ofpiuiits,  a  plunt 

b  Pr«-4Uii)p-tu-uUtf,  pr^-zi\m'-Uh6-&«, 
cuiifiduiit,  irrevcr«iit 

r  Ditt  an  ler,     Diz  As'-tur,     mlcrortwne, 

t  Cuii-»tan-cy,  k6M'-Bt/.n-8i,ro8olufioii, 
(        firnii.ehK 


«  fle-rl-ou«,  li'-ri-fii,  grave,  iinpdrtunt, 

•obcr 
'  Ter-ceive,    pAr-nAve',    to     discover, 

ktjow 
«  Vic-ioim,  vlsh'-fl*.  devotoJ  to  vice 
9  Ir-re-lric-va  ble,  1r-r>-ir*i'-vA  bl,    ir 

recovirabU',  not  to  be  rejraliifil 
f  lii-din-cicl-ioii,    1(1  riU-kriJi'-ftn,   im 

prudence,  raphiH'.'fii,  iiicoitbidc-ration 
/  En-join,  in-jdln',  \o  direct,  to  ordnt 
g  Ad-ino-ntl-i«tn  4d-n)&-n!tfU'-6ii,  copu- 

•ol,  jjeniJc  reproot" 
A  Viv4i:-i-ty,     vA-vArf'-i-ti,    sprigbtli 

nets,  i^uiuty 
i  Pr»»  vi-oiiK,  pr^'-vi-fiu,  iinteredent,  be 

fore 
j  Probi-ty.pr6b'-4-t*.  honoiity,  «.i.''cnlvit  Or-phan,  Af'-fAn,Q  rl»ild  who  bat  Io#t 
\  Av  o-ca-iiiMi,  iv  vA-ka'-«hOB,  lh«  aoi'l        father  or  mother  of  both 

of  caiiing  UHida  [ 

An  address  to  young  persons. 

J.  1  INTKND,  m  this  addreas,  to  show  you  the  im- 
portance of  beginning  early  to  j^ive  s»'rions«i  attention  to 
xyour  conduct.  As  soon  asVou  are  capable  of  reflection, 
you  must  perceive*  that  there  is  a  ripht  and  a  wrong  in 
numan  actions.  You  see,  that  thooe  who  are  born  with 
the  same  advantages  of  fortune,  are  not  all  equally  pros- 
perous in  the  course  of  life. 

2.  While  Kome  of  them,  by  wise  and  steady  conduct., 
attain  distinction  in  the  world,  and  pass  their  days  with 
comfort  and  honour  ;  others  o/  the  same  rank,  by  meaji 
and  vicious'^  behaviour,  forfeit  the  advantages  of  their 
.birth  :  involve  themselves  in  much  misery  ;  and  end  in 
being  a  dis^^r^ice  to  their  friends,  and  a  burden  on  society. 

> S.    Karly,  tiien,  may  3'ou  learn,  that  it  is  n(>t  on  the  ex- 

,tcriA?lc(>ndition  in  which  you  iind  yourselves  placed,  but 
on  the  paVrt  which  }o,u  are  to  rict,  !hat  your  welfare  or 
unliappinessT-'^your  iionour  or  infamy,  de|)ends.  Now, 
when  beginningXto  ac-t  that  part,  what  can  be  of  greater 
moment,  than  to'i^^'^-iil^?^  your  plan  of  conduct  with  thii 
most  serious  attention,  ht'J^^re  you  have  yet  committed 
any  fatal  or  irrctri*».vaide''  eiT^^s  ? 

4.  If  instead  of  exerting  r'<^^«ction  for  this  valuabi* 
jMirposo,  you  deliver  yourselves  ^iP»  ^*  »o  critical  a  tim^, 
h)  kloth  audpkAiur**;  if  you  rwAj  *<*  ^  ^^^*«  ^  *»/ 
O  ft 


iKl  English  Header.  Pvri  1 

counso  T  but  humour,  or  attend  to  any  pursuit  except 
tbHt  of  amusement;  if  you  allow  yourselves  to  float  loose 
and  careless  on  the  tide  of  life,  ready  to  receive  any  di- 
rection which  the  current  of  fashion  may  chance  to  give 
you ;  what  can  you  expect  to  follow  from  such  begin- 
nings ? 

5.  While  so  many  around  you  are  undergoing  the  sad 
consequences  of  a  like  indiscretion,'  for  what  reason  shall 
not  those  consequences  extend  to  you  ?  Shall  you  attain 
success  -without  that  preparation,  and  escape  dangers 
Viihout  that  precaution,  which  are  required  of  others? 
Shall  happiness  grow  up  to  you,  of  its  own  accord,  and 
solicit  your  acceptance,  when  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  it 
is  the  fruit  of  long  cultivation,  and  the  acquisition  of  la- 
bour and  care  ? 

6.  Deceive  not  yourselves  'w'^^h  those  arrogant  hopes. 
Whatever  be  your  rank,  Providence  will  not,  for  your 
eake,  reverse  Its  established  order.  The  author  of  your 
being  hath  enjoined/ you  to  "  take  heed  to  your  ways; 
to  ponder  the  paths  of  your  feet  ;  to  remember  your 
Creator  in  the  days  of  your  youth." 

7.  lie  hath  decreed,  that  they  only  *^  who  seek  after 
■wisdom,  shall  find  it ;  that  fools  shall  be  afflicted,  because 
of  their  transgressions  ;  and  that  whoever  refuseth  in- 
struction, shnll  destroy  his  own  soul."  By  listening  to 
these  admonitions, i?-  and  tempering  the  viv;;city/'  of  youth 
with  a  proper  mixture  of  serious  thought,  you  may  en- 
sure cheerfulness  for  the  rest  of  life ;  but  by  deHvering 
yourselves  up  at  present  to  giddiness  and  levity,  you  lay 
the  foundation  of  lasting  heaviness  of  heart. 

8.  When  you  look  forward  to  those  plans  of  life,  which 
either  your  circumstances  have  suggested,  or  your  friends 
have  proposed,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge,  that 
in  order  to  pursue  them  with  advantage,  some  previous' 
discipline  is  requisite.     Be  assured,  that  whatever  is  to 
be  your  profession,   no   edu'-ation  is  more   necessary,  ttfo 
your  success,   thah   the  acquiren:i(Mit  of  virtiuiiivfj-dispo- 
sitions  and  habits.     This  is  the  universal  prejo^aration  for 
every  character,  and  every  station  in  life«. 

9.  Bad  as  the  world  is,  respect  is  ah  ways^  paid  to  vir- 
tue. In  the  usual  course  of  h-'u^^i^fn  affairs,  it  will  be 
found  that  a  plain  understan'^'iiing,  joined  with  acknowl- 
edged worth,  contributes ,.  more  to  prosperity,  than  the 
brightest  parts  without  /probity^  oi  honour.  Whether 
ficiencov  or  business,  "^or  public  life,  b«  your  ainu  vir^"* 


0Km.  t.  Public  Sf£kciik«.  169 

Btill  enters,  ft)r  a  principal  share,  into  nil  those  greAl  de- 
partments of  societ3^  It  is  connected  with  eminence,  in 
every  libernl  art;  with  reputation  in  every  branch  of  fair 
nnd  useful  business ;  witli  distinction  in  every  public  sta- 
tion. 

10.  The  vis;our  which  it  j^ives  the  mind,  and  the  weight 
which  it  adds  to  character;  the  p'uerous  sentiments 
which  it  breathes  ;  the  und;tunted  t^pn-it which  it  inspires;, 
the  ardour  of  dHi^<'nce  which  il  (juickens  ;  the  freedom 
which,  it  procur«^  fi-oin  pernicious  ;«nd  dishonouriihle  av- 
ocations ;^  are  the  foundatio'is  of  all  that  is  highly  hon- 
o\irah!e,  or  '^rea!ly  successful  amonp;  men. 

1 1.  Whatever  ornamental  or  en^a^^in.;:  ^-ndowments  you 
now  possess,  virtue,  is  a  necessary  rt^iuibite,  in  order  to 
t'leir  shinin*^  wit!i  j-r^iper  lustie.  Fe(t}>!e  are  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  f:iirest  form,  if  it  he  suspected  that  notiiiuf^ 
within  corresponds'  to  the  pleasinj^  ap|)earance  without. 
Short  are  the  ti'iumphs  of  wit,  when  it  is  supposed  to  be 
the  vehicle  of  malice. 

12.  By  whiitever  means  you  may  j>t  first  attract  the  at* 
trntion,  you  can  hold  the  esteem,  and  secure  the  hearts 
of  others,  only  by  amiable  dispositions,  and  the  accom- 
plishments of  tile  mind,  'i'liese  are  the, -qualities  whose 
influence  will  last,  when  the  lustre  of  all  that  once  spar- 
kled and  dazzled  has  passed  away. 

13.  Let  not  then  the  season  of  youth  be  barren  of  im- 
provements, so  essential  to  your  future  f^dicity  and  hon- 
our. Now  is  the  seed-ti;:ie  of  life  ;  and  accoiding  to 
*'  w  hat  you  sow,  you  shah  reap."  Your  character  is  now, 
under  Divine  Assistance,  of  your  own  foiminj;;  your 
fate  is,  in  some  measure,  put  into  your  own  liands. 

14.  Your  nature  is  as  yet  pliant'"  and  soft.  Habits 
have  not  established  their  dominion.  Prejudices  hav« 
not  preoccupied"  your  understandinj^.  The  world  ha» 
not  had  time  to  contract  and  debase  your  aii'ections.  Al, 
your  powers  are  more  vi;r;<>rous,  dise.inbarrassed,  and  free 
than  they  will  be  at  any  future  period. 

15.  Whatever  impulse  you  now  give  to  your  desires 
and  passions,  tlie  direction' is  lil^eiy  lo  continue.  It  will 
form  the  cijann*-!  in  which  your  life  is  to  run  ;  nay.  it  may' 
determine  its  everlasting^  issue.  Consider  then* the  em- 
ployment of  this  important  period,  as  the  highest  tru!*! 

[which  ftiiall  ever  be  committed  to  >ou  ;  as  in  a  ^rrat  mea»- 

|wro,    ^ecisive  of  your  happiness,  in  time,  and  m  eternity. 

1(J.  Aa  in  thki  succession  of  th<j  seasons,  each,  by  Jb« 


t9^  E.N&jbisa  lliUD£R.  JPUft  I 

mrariablf'^  laws  of  nature,  affects  the  productions  of  whi 
is  next  in  coufse ;  so,  in  human  life,  every  period  of  01^ 
nge,  according  as  it  is  well  or  ill  spent,  influences  the  hag 
pihess  of  that  which  is  to  follow.  Virtuous  youth  graq 
ually  brings  forward  accomplished  and  flourishing  man 
hood;  and  such  manhood  passes  off  itself  without  unefl 
siness,  into  respectable  and  tranquil  old  age. 

17.  But  when  nature  is  turned  outof  itsregularrourse 
disorder  takes  place  in  the  moral,  just  as  in  the  v?getablej 
world,  li  the  spring  put  forth  no  blossoir",  in  summei 
there  will  be  no  beauty,  and  in  autumn,  no  fruit;  so,  ii 
youth  be  tiifled  away  without  improvement,  manhooc 
will  probably  be  contemptible,  and  old  age  miserable.— 
If  the  beginnings  of  life  have  been  "  vanity,"  its  latter 
end  can  scarcely  be  any  other  than  "  vexation  of  spirit." 

18.  1  shall  finish  this  address,  with  calling  your  atten- 
tion to  that  dependence  on  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  which, 
amidst  all  y'>ur  endeavours  after  improvement,  you  ought 
rontmualiy  to  preserve.  It  is  too  common  with  the 
young,  even  when  they  resolve  to  tread  the  path  of  vir- 
tue and  honour,  to  set  out  with  presumptuous';  confidence 
in  themselves. 

19.  Trusting  to  their  own  abilities  for  carrying  them 
fuccessfullythrough  life,  they  are  careless  of  applying  to 
God,  or  ot  deriving  any  assistance  from  what  tiiey  are 
apt  to  reckon  the  gloomy  discipline  of  religion.  Alas  ! 
how  httle  do  they  know  the  danjfers  which  awaiis  them  ? 
Neither  human  wisdom,  nor  hunuin  virtue  unsupported 
by  religion,  is  equal  to  the  trying  situations  which  often 
occur  in  life. 

£0.  By  the  shock  of  temptation^  how  frequently  have 
the  most  virtuous  intentions  been  overthrown  ?  Under 
the  pressure  of  disaster,'"  how  often  has  the  greatest  con- 
stancy* sunk  ?  "  Every  good,  and  every  perfect  gift,  is 
from  above."  Wisdom  and  virtue,  as  well  as  '*  riches 
and  honour,  come  from  God."  Destitute  of  his  favour, 
you  are  in  no  better  situation,  with  all  your  boasted  abil- 
ities, than  orphans'  left  to  wander  in  a  trackless  desert, 
without  any  j^uide  to  conduct  them,  or  any  shelter  to 
c6ver  them' from  the  gathering  storm,. 

21,  Correct,  then,  this  ill-founded  arrogance.  Expect 
not,  that  your  happiness  can  be  independent  of  Him  who 
made  you.  By  laith  and  repentance,  apply  to  the  Re- 
deemer of.  the  world.  By  piety  a;'d  prayer,  se,  k  tbr 
|)fotectk>a  of  the  God  of  beaveo.     1  coDciuda  witA  tUii 


Promiscuous  Pieces. 


ids 


\Chap.  9. 

Iwlcmn  words.  In  which  a  great  prince,  delivereil  his  dy- 
ing charge  to  his  son  :  words,  which  every  young  person 
j ought  to  consider  as  addressed  to  himself,  and  to  engrave 
deeply  on  his  heart : 

I  22.  **  Solomon,  my  son,  kncfw  thou  the  God  of  thy 
jfathers  ;  and  serve  him  with  a  perfect  heart,  and  a  wil- 
liing  mind. — For  the  Lord  searcheth  all  hearts,  and  un- 
derstandeth  all  the  imaginations  of  the  thoughts.  Jf 
thou  seek  him*  he  will  he  fou.jdof  thee  ;  but  if  thou  for 
ta'ke  him,  he  will  dast  thee  oft'  forever.'*  blaik. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


^tomlDCUotts  l^itttn. 


SECTION  I. 


;  Earth-quake,  4rth'-kw4ke,  tremour  of 
I         th«  earth 

Ih  Ca-)a-bri-u,  kA-li,'-bri-4,  a  country  of 
Italy 
«  Kir-cher,  k^.r'-tsWr,  a  celebrated  tra- 
I         vellcr  and  writer 
\d  ?rod-i-gy,  pr6(l  -d^-ji,  a  thing  aston- 
ishing J'or  food  or  bad 
«  Fri-ar,  fri'-fir,  a  monk 
/  6ec-u-Iar,  s<Sk'-k/i-i6r,  not  spirirual, 

one  nt)t  bound  bv  nionaRtick  rule* 
g  Pe-lo-rufi,  pi-IA'-rftp,  one  of  tlie  three 

great  promontories  of  Sicily,  near 

Charybdi8 
A  Eu-phcD-mi-a,  y6-ft'-mi-4,  a  city  of 

Calabria 
t  Trans-act,  trin8-4kt',  to  manage,  per 

form 
J  Cha-ryb-dis,  k4-rTb'-d!«,  a  dangerous 

whirlpool  on  the  coast  of  Sicily,  op 

posite    another    v,'\nx\\)0<i\    ca'iti' 

Scylla 

ft  Verge,  v^.rje,  to  tend,  a  rod,  f  ho  edpf 
i  Vol-ume,  vil'-ytme,  a  compact  body, 

a  book 
m  6uJ-phur-ou6,  sfir-ffir-fis,  containiDg 


sulphur 
u  Siench,  st^nsh,  a  violent  stink,  a  bed 

»n)Rll 
cr  Thoitp,  th6ng,  a  strap  of  leather 
p  eub-lu-nar-y.Kfib'-16n4r-4,  terroatrial 
q  Thresh-ohl,  ihr^sh'-h^id,  a  step  under 

iht!  door,  entrance 
r  Con-cus-Kion,  k6n-kfish'-an,  shock  of 

an  carthqu&ko 
5  Lo-piz-i  uin,  lA-p!zh'-i-fini,  a  ea«tJ« 

near  Jluiilitcmia 
t  Belch,  beloh,  to  eject  wind  from  th« 

stomach,  the  act  of  eructation 
u  Re-motc,  r^-m^te',  distant,  foreign 
0  Con-tig-u-<»us,  k6n-ilg'-6-fia,  meetiBf 

so  au  to  touch 
ID  Par-ox-ysm,  j)4r'-r6k-s!rm,  a  fit,  pe- 
riodical exac«>rbHtion  of  a  disease 
z  Ca-tas-tro-phe,    k4-t4h'-tri-fi,    final 

event,  generally  unhappy 
y  Hid  C-OU8,    lild'-^-fis,    or    h!d'>j^8«, 

horrible,  dreadful 
z  Pen-sive-ly,   p^o'-slv-l^,  »orrowf«IJy| 

thoughtfully 
a  Loath,  lAthe,  tnljate,  abhor 
b  Persist,  p^r-sKtit',  to  porsevera,  go  oa 


Earthquake*  at  Calabriaj^  in  the  year  IQdQ* 

1.  x\N  account  of  this  dreadful  earthquake,  is  aven 
by  tlie  ceJehrated  father  Kircher/  It  happened  whiwt  be 
was  on  his  jdurney  to  ri^t  Mount  iEtna,  and  the  rest  of 


iJs  English  Readkh.  Part  l-i 

the  wonden?  that  lie  towards  the  south  of  Italy.  KircbJ> 
er  is  considered  by  scholars,  as  one  of  the  greatest  prcH> 
digies^'  of  learning. 

£.  **  Having  hired  a  boat,  in  company  with  four  more, 
(two  friars^  of  tlie  order  of  St.  Francis,  and  two  secu- 
lars,/) we  launched  from  the  harbour  of  Messina,  in  Sici- 
ly ;  and  arrived  the  same  day,  at  the  promontory  of  Pe- 
lorus.fi'  Our  destination  was  for  the  city  of  Euphaemia,* 
in  Calabria ;  where  he  had  some  butfiness  to  transact ;» 
and  where  we  designed  to  tarry  for  some  time. 

.S.  "  However,  iVovide^nce  seemed  willing  to  cross  our 
design  ;  for  we  were  obliged  to  corilinue  three  days  at 
Pelorus,  on  account  of  the  weather ;  and  though  we  of- 
ten put  out  to  sea,  yet  we  were  as  often  driven  back. — 
At  length,  wearied  with  the  delay,  we  resolved  to  pro- 
secut-ii  our  voyage  ;  and,  although  the  sea  seemed  more 
than  usually  agitated,  we  ventured  forward. 

4.  *'  The  gulf  of  Charybdis/  which  we  approached, 
seemed  whirled  round  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  form  a 
vast  hcllow,  verging*  to  a  point  in  the  centre.  Proceed- 
ing on-  irard,  and  turning  my  eyes  to  ^tna,  1  saw  it  cast 
forth  large  volumes^  of  smoke,  of  mountainous  sizes, 
which  entirely  covered  the  island,  and  blotted  out  the  ve- 
ry shores  from  my  view. 

6.  ''  This,  together  with  the  noise,  and  the  sulphurous"* 
stencil"  which  was  strongly  perceived,  filled  ^iie  with  ap- 
prehensions, that  some  more  dreadful  calamity  was  im- 
pending. The  sea  itself  seemed  to  wear  a  very  unusual 
appearance :  they  who  have  seen  a  lake  in  a  violent 
snower  of  rain,  covered  all  over  with  bubbles,  will  con- 
ceive some  idea  of  its  agitations. 

6.  "My  surprise  was  still  increased,  by  the  calmness 
and  serenity  of  the  weather ;  not  a  breeze,  not  a  cloud, 
which  might  be  supposed  to  put  all  nature  thus  into  mo- 
tion. I  therefore  warned  my  companions,  that  an  earth» 
quake  was  approaching ;  and,  after  some  time,  making 
for  the  shore  with  all  possible  diligence,  we  landed  at 
Tropaja,  happy  and  tliankful  for  having  escaped  the 
threatening  dangers  of  the  sea. 

7.  "  But  our  triumphs  at  land  were  of  short  duration ; 
for  we  had  scarcely  arrived  at  the  Jesuit's  College,  in 
that  city,  when  Our  ears  were  stunned  with  a  horrid  sound, 
resembling  that  of  an  infinite  number  of  chariots,  driven 
fiercely  forward  ;  the  whet3ls  rattling,  and  the  thongs 
cracking; 


Chap.  1>.  l^ROMiscuous  Pirxts.  107 

8,  "  Soon  after  this,  a  most  (Ircadful  earthquake  en- 
giied;  go  that  the  ivhoie  tract  upon  which  we  stood  seem- 
ed to  vibrate,  as  if  we  were  in  the  scale  of  a  balance  tliat 
continued  wavering.  This  motion,  however,  soon  grew 
more  violent;  and  hein;;  no  lonj^er  able  to  keep  my  legs, 
1  was  thrown  prostrate  upon  the  ground. 

9.  "  in  the  iriean  tim«%  the  universal  ruin  round  me  re- 
doubled my  amazement.  The  crash  of  falling  houses, 
the  tottering  of  to\\ers,  and  the  groans  of  the  dying,  all 
contributed  to  raise  my  terror  and  despair.  On  every 
Bide  of  me,  1  saw  nothing  but  a  scene  ot  ruin ;  and  dan- 
ger threat«'ning  wherever  1  should  fly.  I  recomimendcd 
myself  to  Cod,  as  my  last  great  refuge. 

"  10.  At  that  hour,  O  how  vain  was  every  sublunary^* 
happiness  !  Wealth,  honour,  empire,  v.isdon,  all  r  ere 
useless  sounds,  ana  as  emj)ty  as  the  bubbles  of  the  d»pp  ! 
Jdst  standing  on  the  thres]u)ld7  of  eternity,  nothing  bur 
God  was  my  pleasure;  and  tiie  nearer  1  approached,  1 
only  loved  him  tiie  m.ore. 

11.  '*  After  some  time,  however,  finding  that  I  remain- 
ed unhuit,  amidst  the  general  concussjon,'*  I  resolved  to 
venture  for  safety ;  and  running  as  fast  as  I  could,  1 
reached  the  shore,  but  almost  terrified  out  of  mv  reason. 
1  did  not  search  long  here,  till  1  found  the  boat  in  which 
I  had  landed  ;  and  my  companions  also,  whose  terrors 
were  even  greater  than  mine.  Our. meeting  was  not  of 
that  kind,  where  every  one  is  desirous  of  telling  his  own 
happy  escape  ;  it  was  all  silence,  and  a  gloomty  dread  of 
impending  terrors. 

12.  *'  Leaving  this  seat  of  desolation,  we  prosecuted 
our  voyage  along  the  coast ;  and  the  next  day  came  to 
Rochetta,  where  we  landed,  although  the  earth  still  con- 
tinued in  violent  agitations.  But.we  had  scarcely  arrived 
at  our  inn,  when  w^e  were  once  more  obliged  to  return  to 
the  boat ;  and,  in  about  half  an  hour,  we  saw  the  greater 
part  of  the  town,  and  the  inn  at  which  we  had  set  up, 
dashed  to  the  ground,  and  burying  the  inhabitants  be- 
neath the  ruins. 

13.  *'  In  this  manner,  proceeding  onward  in  our  littfe 
Tessel,  finding  no  safety  at  land,  and  yet,  from  the  small- 
•Dess  of  our  boat.  haVing.but  a  verv  dangerous  continuance 
at  -sea,  we  at  length  landed  at  Lopizium,'  a  castle  mid- 
way between  Tropaea  and  Euphsemia,  the  city  to  which, 
as  I  said  before,  we  were  bound, 

14.  "  Here,  v;her*^ver  i  hmi*^d  my  eyes^  nothing  hut 


S68  £^T^xsa  Rsaoeb.  Part,  i 

■•ccncs  of  ruin  And  horror  appeared ;  towrw  itnd  castles 
levelled  to  tlie  ground;  Strombalo,  though  at  sixtj 
miles  distance,  belching'  forth  flames  in  an  unusual  man- 
ner, and  with  a  noise  which  1  could  distinctly  hear.  But 
my  attention  was  qu'  skly  turned  from  more  remote,"  to 
contiguous^  danger. 

15.  "  The  rumbli'  g  sound  of  an  approaching  earth- 
quake, which  we  by  this  time  were  grown  acquaiijtedwitii, 
alarmed  us  for  ther-)nsequences  ;  it  every  moment  seem- 
ed to  grow  louder,  and  to  approach  nearer.  ThejWace 
on  which  we  stood  now  began  to  shake  most  dread t ull^'' * 
so  that  being  unablt^  to  stand,  my  companions  and  I  caught 
hold  of  whatever  shrub  grew  next  to  Ui,  and  supported 
ourselves  in  that  manner.'^ 

16.  **  After  sorae  time,  this  violent  paroxism*  ceasing, 
we  again  stood  up,  in  order  to  prosecute  our  voyage  to 
Euphaemia,  whir.h  lay  within  sight.  In  the  mean  time, 
while  we  were  jr  reparing  for  this  purpose,  I  turned  my 
eyes  towards  th^i  city,  but  could  see  only  a  frightful  dark 
cloud,  that  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  place.  This  th« 
more  sjrprised  us,  as  the  weather  was  so  very  serene. 

17.  **Vve  waited,  therefore,  till  the  cloud  had  passed 
away :  then  turning  to  look  for  the  city,  it  was  totally 
sunk.  Wonderful  to  tell !  notiiing  but  a  dismal  and  pu- 
trid lake  was  *ieen  where  it  st^od.  We  looked  about  to 
lind  some  on^^  that  could  tell  us  of  its  sad  catastrophe,* 
but  could  see  no  person.  All  was  become  a  melancholy 
solitude;  a  scene  of  hideousy  desolation. 

18.  **Thi:s  proceeding  pensively*  alona;,  in  quest  of 
some  humari  being  that  could  cive  us  a  little  informationi, 
we  at  len|;th  saw  a  boy  sitting  by  the  shore,  and  appear- 
ing stupihcdwith  terror.  Of  him,  therefore,  weinc^uired 
concerning  the  fate  of  the  city  ;  but  he  could  not  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  give  us  an  answer- 

19.  **  We  entreated  him,  witherery  expression  of  ten- 
derness and  pity  to  tell  us ;  but  bis  senses  were  quite 
wrapt  up  in  the  contemplation  of  the  danger  he  haa  esr 
caped.  We  offered  him  some  victuals,  but  he  seemed  to 
loathe*  the  sight.  We  still  persisted*  in  our  offices  of 
kindness;  but  he  only  pointea  to  the  place  of  the  city, 
like  one  out  of  his  senses ;  and  then  running  up  into  the 
woods,  v/as  never  heard  of  diler.  ^^s:h^^.  the  fate  of 
the  citv  of  PiUpha&mia. 

SO*  **  As  we  coatinu^  our  melancholy  course  alone 
the  ehei^r  the  whole  ccabt,  fOr  the  apace  of  two  buj^dr'so 


fnil«s,  prestnt«tl  nolhrng  but  the  remain*  of  rfQes  |  anil 
Unen  scattered,  without  a  faabitatiun,  over  the  fielda. — 
Vroce^ding  thus  alone,  we  at  length  ended  our  <iistress(\j| 
voy2,ge  by  arriving  at  Naples,  after  having  escaped  a  thoTt- 
«and  dangers*  botU  at  sea  and  land.^'  «oldsmit«» 

SECTION  IL 

^  G<e-mm-i-i»,  ji-rofn'-ni-fis,  u  Roman,  c  Ma-lic-iou«,TnA-nrii'-^«,  intendinf  ifl 
I         who  was  the  inveterate  euetny  ol'iti  Clemc'ii-cy,  klein   m§n-sd,  mercy 

Marius  it  lu-ex-o-ia-ble,  In-^ks^A-ri-bl,  nM  •• 

4|  Ab-ject,  lb -j^lct,  moan,  contcniptible  I        be  mu veil  by  entreaty 

Lethr  from  Pliny  t©  Gemimds.* 
1,  Do  we  not  sometimes  ol)serve  a  sort  of  people,  wh© 
though  they  are  themselves  under  tlje  ahject^  ■d-ominion  of 
every  vice,  show  a  kind  of  malicious^  resetitment  ■against 
jtiie  errors  <of  others ;  and  are  most  severe  upon  thoso 
jwhom  they  most  lesemhle?  yet,  surely  a  lenity  of  dis- 
iposiUon,  -even  in  persons  wlio  liave  the  h;ast  occasion  for 
tcJemency  themselves,  is  of  all  virtues  the  most  becominjj- 
j  ^  The  highest  of  all  chaj^rtcrs,  in  my  estimation,  is 
ihis,  wlio  is  as  ready  to  pardon  tJie  errors  of  mankind,  at 
jif  lie  wer^  every  day  guilty  of  some  himself  ;  and^  at  ihi? 
isamo  tiuKi,  as  cautious  of  committing  a  fault,  as  if  he 
never  ifor^ave  one.  It  is  a  rule  tlien  which  we  should, 
)jpon  aM  occasions,  both  piivate  and  puhlic,  most  reli- 
giously obse4-\'e  ;  "  to  be  inexorable'  to  our  own  failings, 
ifvhil-e  we  treat  tiiose  of  the  rest  of  the  world  with  ten- 
jjierness,  not  excepting  even  such  as  forgive  none  but 
themselves.** 
i   3.  I  shall,  perhaps,  be  asked,  who  it  is  that  has  given 

tccasion  to  these  rellections.  Know  then  that  a  certain 
erson  Jately — but  of  that  when  we  meet— though,  upon 
iecond  thoughts,  not  even  then;  lest,  whilst  1  condemn 
Ind  expose  his  conduct,  1  siiall  act  counter  to  that  maX'* 
fn  i  particulady  recommend,  Whoever,  therefore,  and 
Whatever  he  is,  shall  remain  in  silence;  for  tliough  th^rc 
lay  be  some  use,  perhaps,  in  setting  a  mark  upon  the 
laa,  for  the  sake  of  exanipl<),  there  wiil  be  more,  how* 
i^er,  in  9p4ring  him,  Xor  the. sake  of  humanity.    Faxe- 

^•U«  MiuiJCOTU'3  MUJTT.   ' 

...     V  . 


ffH  HKintm,  Part  i. 


•  Mitt  M>l  U  fiiia,  mil  pll'tr  hIm,  ft  n*t\th 

i   l-M,.  .1 »    t>->>.  <!/.'  riAv, 


«  Kft  l(ntt«ii,  A((«  liiwttt',    t«  4/fttit,  tfl 


^  nmUihlc  jftmn^  wmum, 

1.  T  WWIff   fhj«4  utMl^r  fit**  MlinoMl   o(ipr»'M«(ifMt   of  »or» 

row  (  «I  I      '       •!        ii        .(  iriy  TrMfMl    FmikIjmju*/*  i<« 

4tNMl  1  it     fliorii     (i^l'^r/tblM,     Mttri 

Hiorit  iMMi'iti'   >■•■(»♦;•  |>'  I    Ml  ,  ->!  ofM',  wlio  lM'l,lrrH«««<'rv<(i 
^  liNvi*  titiioyiMl  /I  l<Mi(%  1    liiid   hhitoMt  t))M<lf   (Ml  Jiniiiort'tl 

mntron/joinrd  witti  ydtUhfui  nwrntinifM  And  virgin  m'> 

h«ir  f/illH'i!  Ilovv  Knully  jiimI  r'ftjMM'U'ully  fvjM-iv**,  It, 
fri«i»»iU  !  Mow  /inVrli«Miul,«'|y^  iioitt  mII  llHis-.r' who,  in  tlinr 
rr«|i4ii'f)v<i  (iMirt-N,  IhmI  IImi  chw  jumI  (mIim  ntuMi  of  Ikm' !-^ 
Hh<^  Miri|>|oy<'<l  i/HM'li  of  Imt  tnrui  itt  ir,;Mliti)t;,  in  vvIimIi  »%|if} 
iliMrov«ii'<Mi  ^r*''!!,  t(ir«i»^'()i  of  )n<l^<;m«M»t, ;  ^'-Imi  Im(1iiI;v'1 
h(*rni'|f  ill  Hnv  (hvcinion;),  nrid  |)Hm<*.  vvilli  iniM'|>  rnijion. 
VVItli  whHl  I'oi'li^HrwiMr!,  with  wli/it  |MiU«nce,  with  wiiiit 
rourifKfS  did  tdir>  t^iidur^  h<^r  iitnl  IUih^m  I 

5*  B'tti  (*,oiii)tll4M)  with  all  (li^  dirttclidnn  of  hf^r  )diyKi* 
flfinii)  Mhd  (^iM*oitni(£,<'<l  h*  r  htt4ti«r,  nrid  h<ir  fMlli<iy  ;  mid. 
wh»*n  nil  Imt  nlr(*ri;nli  of  hoi^y  \v«n  i^ihu lie,! ♦•(!,'  niipportf'd 
hrrii'lf  l»v  tin*  hiii(/l<'  vi^,oiir  f>r  luir  iniiid,  'J'hi»,l,  uidri'd, 
eonlMiiK'd  fviti  |o  lit'i'  )Mt.l  tnornctilMf  liiihroiicii  hs  thi 
pnin  of  n  lorif^  illn^MtM,  or*  IIhi  ti'iTontrif  iijiiironrhinf^nMtthl 
iind  it  ixtt  nH*''  lion  which  ini»k<'M  (h<i  \om  of  hrr  «o  i/ioch 
fhrt  mon<  to  hr  htiminti'ri.  S  lonw  innnilrly  »inv<n«'  '  mul 
morw  KwvtArci  hy  (hu  pufliculai'  corijuiiclurw  in  whi«  li  d 
linpjH'nt'd  ! 

4.  HIh-  wim  t*,o(dnirfr«d  tfi  n  rno»it  worlliy  yonlh  •,  IM. 
widdinj/,  «i^«y  WMi4  lUt^d,  \uu\  Wf)  w«M'«'  itll  mvitiMl.—  M«mv 
HAd  fi  I'hnn^'r  from  tlui  hljfjifttt  joy,  fo  flu*,  di'^pfi  ' 
roM' !  Mow  tolmll  I  itJiinrwH  llin  woiumI  lli/it  pli-n*  «l  /ny 
b«itrt.  whtMt  1  iM'ni'd  I*  nndiinim  hiniKcIf,  (^n  iciii^r  i  <  <' 
flfldhi^.  «Mit  4di('iirxit(titni'4'^  to  Mf(|r,i'itviit(^  itM  itltlicfioii  j  •  ^ 
fl«trlo(^  tht'  rrioncy  iic  hiid  dMKi|/;n(*d  tt>  hiy  out  upon  <  lotiin 
^imI  JAWidi  r«tt  lit'i  iniiriir^(«t,  tt  be  r/riployrd  in  rnyrrh 
;iii  f5'»«4i«  foi  ii^r  r»nM<rii|  | 


J 


Chap.%, 


pAOIfl^COOtJI  VirxKt, 


171 


5.  He  \n  «  man  of  ^r^'al  learnlnr  arxi   ^ood  B<nifr,  Kvho^ 
ha*  appii"*!  hi»n*<rlf,  from   Uh  ♦♦nrli<";t  y<njlh»  to  tli*^  no- 
Hi»*Ht  arid   n!Oht  f  K'v;,t«,fi    «lijf1'i»*.»<  :  hut   aii  fiii*  in.ixiinH  of 
frn'titufle  wliirli  lie  ha:f  rffciivt-il  from  ijorjiin,  or  ;oitani'*^ 
him««'ir,  h«5  now  ;tN»ol«it<-ly  r«J«*<fifi  /  ;<     *  '        "     "  .  r  vir 
tufj  of  hiu  fiKfirt  ;^iv«;f»  {yiiieji  to  jilj  a  ).  .  sh. 

6.  VV«t  hliall  ^ix-^'AiHP,  ¥i'#t  fthall  #*vrii  ;  ^  .  .  .;iOW, 
wh«jn  wii  cori«Ul*'r  uhaf  hi'  hau  h^t.  Urita<tlo«ta<J;jurh- 
t«'r  Y/Uii  r«'«MiiiiM«'d  liim  in  hitt  roariiicrK,  tt^  wtii  ituhtu 
person  ;  and  vxhiiHy  co^iii  d  out  all  li^*r  fallirr.  Jf  ti',% 
irif^nd  Marci^ll^nuM  >4ljall  (fiiiik  projwr  to  %*rit<'  i/i  f»i»n,  up- 
on the  KiiUy-i't  <*(  Mro  r«  f' 
him  not  to  ii«<:  tij«t  loi/;  i 
jjurh  a«  *!«•«•  rn  to  <•"■•"  ...in  lu*  u*  ,  ii^i 
those  of  kind  ;mm!                                          r)jfy. 

7.  Time  will  r*  •  n  to  tU<^  di<:tat^«  of 
eaton ;  fc»ra«  a  (n*.nki  woiithI  nhrnikn  hark  from  the  |];uid 

of  the  Murj5«'>on,  hut  h^'  d*'ji;ree»  Huhmitn  to,  and  ev4'n  re- 
r{uirefi  the  meana  of  it»i  ctire  ;  ho  a  inind,  under  ihv  fir-.t 
HMpreH^sions  of  a  nriiKfortune,  ahunti  and  njerta  all  ar;^u- 
rnentu  of  ronnolation;  hut  at  len^tl),  i'  '     !  w>th  ten- 

dernen^,  calmly  and  willin;;ly  arquje*-*  (,i.     Kari^- 

well.  hi.  ..  f'f  !^r. 


hf:ction  IV. 


l>  Pradcrt'iMl,  pfAd  d^u'  »>'&>,  «l»f(il>l< 
<  lii  ''It,  im 


c;.. 

I 


ft^i  tiMi  <;>/;>(>{.•  la  Hiciiy,  «nd  l^oi« 


of  K*ff>luM  *rti\  ThooM. 
i  fiut:  ctuti,  nlk  tikiA\  U,  futlow,  pro*- 

j  lUi'tizun, hAff'T/vi, tb« tint Htni in- 

li'  M^tiofi,  liMtrti^tioii, 


AH 
/  111 


m6<,  fcinf  of  «  0<;h4;o>e,  i 


jcct 


I .  (h«  power  wMcli 

vili  of  \tttiUM 

<"!n',  to    m^ko 


1. 

Aid 


On  Ducrf.tlon. 

1  HAvr  often  tho^i^ht,  if  the  mind«  of  mt-w  were 

ojM-n,   we  t^houid    «ee   hut  littlr*  diflen;nce  hetween 

that  of  a  wijje  man,  and  that  of  a.  fool.     There  are  infl- 

llte  reverieu,  numherle^.s  eyfrnvnpHnreis,  and  a  huccesftioo 

vnnitieh,  which  pa**.    >  Wh.     'I'he  frreat  differ*- 

lA,  dust  the  ^rat  i:  :   at  to  pick  a^d  cut!  bU 


172  English  Reader.  Part  1. 

thoughts  for  conversation,  by  suppressing  some,  and  com- 
inunicating  others  ;  whereas  the  other  lets  them  all  indif- 
ferently fly  out  in  woixls.  This  sort  of  discretion,  hoAV- 
♦*ver,  has  no  place  in  private  conversation  between  inti- 
mate friends. 

2.  On  such  occasions,  the  wisest  men  very  often  talk 
like  the  weakest ;  for  indeed  talking  with  a  friend  is  no- 
thing else  than  thin/cing  aloud,  Tully  has  therefore  very 
iustly  exposed  a  precept,''  delivered  by  some  ancient  wri- 
fers.  That  a  man  should  live  with  his  enemy  in  such  a 
manner,  as  mi^ht  leave  him  room  to  become  his  friend  ; 
and  witii  ills  fnend,  in  such  a  manner,  that,  i(  he  became 
his  enemy,  it  should  not  be  in  his  power  to  hurt  him. 

a.  The  iu'st  part  of  this  rule,  which  regards  our  be- 
haviour towards  an  enemy,  is  indeed  very  reasonable,  as 
>veU  as  very  prudential  ;*  but  the  latter  part  of  it,  which 
regards  our  behaviour  towards  a  friend,  savours'*  more  of 
cunning  than  of  discretion  :  and  would  cut  a  man  oft 
from  the  greatest  pleasures  of  life,  which  are  the  free- 
doms of  conversation  with  a  bosom  friend. 

4.  Besides  that,  when  a  friend  is  turned  into  an  enemy, 
the  world  is  just  enough  to  accuse  the  perMiousness''  of 
the  friend,  rather  than  the  indiscretion'  of  the  person  who 
confided  in  him.  Discretion  does  not  only  show  itself  in 
words,  but  in  all  t-he  circumstances  of  action  ;  and  is  like 
an  under-agent  of  I'rovidence,  to  guide  and  direct  us  in 
the  ordinary  concerns  of  life. 

.^.  There  are  many  more  shining  qualities  in  the  mind 
of  man,  but  there  is  none  so  useful  as  discretion.  It  is 
this,  indeed,  which  gives  a  value  to  all  the  rest ;  which 
sets  them  at  work  in  tlieir  proper  times  and  places ;  and 
turns  them  to  the  advanta«;e  of  the  person  who  is  pos- 
sessed of  them.  Without  it,  learning  is  pedantry/  and 
wit  impertinence;  virtue  itself  looks  like  weakness  ;  the 
best  parts  only  qualify  a  man  to  be  more  sprightly  in  er-  j 
fours,  and  active  to  his  own  prejudice. 

6.  Discretion  does  not  only  make  a  man  the  master  o» 
his  own  parts,  but  of  other  men's.  The  discreet  man 
finds  out  the  talents  of  those  he  converses  with  ;  and 
knows  how  to  apply  them  to  proper  uses.  Accordingly, 
if  we  look  into  particular  communities^'  and  divisions  ol  , 
racn,  we  may  observe,  tJiat  it  is  the  discreet  man,  not  - 
the  witty,  nor  the  learned,  nor  thti  bravci  who  guides  the 
conversation,  and  j^ives  measures  to  tociftty. 

7.  A  man  v^th  grett  tix]&uic,  but  void  of  discretlor*,  is 


Cy^-    Ow  f&OMltCUOCT   I'lCCKV^.  IT* 

iik«  Polyphemus*  hi  the  fable,  strong  and  blind ;  endued 
with  an  irresistible  force,  which,  lor  want  of  sij^lit,  it 
of  no  use  to  him.  Though  a  man  has  all  other  perfec- 
tions, yet  if  he  wants  discretion,  he  "vvill  be  of  no  great 
consequence  in  the  world  ;  on  the  contrary,  if  lie  has 
this  single  talent  in  perfection,  and  but  a  common  share 
of  others,  he  may  do  what  he  pleaaes  iu  tiiis  particular 
station  of  life. 

8.  At  the  same  time  that  1  think  discretion  the  mo&t 
useful  talent  a  man  can  be  master  of,  J  look  upon  cun- 
ning to  be  the  accomplisinnent  of  little,  mean,  ungene- 
rous minds.  Discretion  points  out  tile  noblest  ends  to 
us;  and  pursues  the  most  proper  and  laudable  methods 
of  attaining  them  ;  cunning  bus  oniy  private  selfish  aims; 
and  sticks  at  nothing  whicii  may  make  uiem  succeed.' 

9.  Discretioii  has  large  and  extended  views  ;  and  like 
a  well-formed  eyr,  commands  a  whole  horizMn;;  cunning 
is  a  kind  of  short-sightediw-ss,  that  discovers  the  minutesl 
objects  wliich  are  near  at  hand,  but  is  iiot  able  to  di^ce^Il 
things  at  a  distance.  Discretion,  the  fxiore  it  is  discov- 
ered, gives  a  |;reater  autlnjrity  to  the  person  who  po^♦- 
sesses  it :  cunnuig,  when  it  is  once  detected,  loses  it« 
force,  and  ii^akes  a  man  incapable  of  bringing.uhout  even 
those  events  which  he  might  have  done,  iiud.  he  pitssed 
only  for  a  plain  man. 

10.  Discretioii  is  the  perft^ctionof renson  ;  .andaguide* 
to  us  in  all  the  duties  of  life  :  .cunning  is  a  k\i\(\  of  in- 
stinct,'  that  only  looks  out  after  .our  ijnmediate  interest 
and  welfare.  Discretion  is  only  found  in  men  of  stronjj 
sense  and  good  understandings  :  cunning  is  t)t\h,n  to  Lt* 
met  with  in  brutes  themselves  ;  and  in  )»ersons  who  Hr« 
but  the  fewest  removes  from  tliA^m.  In  short,,  .cunning 
is  only  the  mknic*»  of  discretion;  and  it  may  jMiss  upon 
weak  men,  in  the  same  manner  iis  vivacity  is  often  ini»- 
taken  for  wit,  and  gravity,  for  wisdom. 

11.  The  cast  cf  mind  which  is  natural  to  a  discreet 
man,  makes  him  look  hirward  into  futurity,  and  consider 
what  will  be  his  condition  millions  of  jiges  hence,  as  wel 
as  what  it  is  at  present,"  lie  kriDWs  tliat  the  misery  oi 
happiness  which  is  reserved  for  iAm  in  another  world,  U 
Bes  nothing  of  its  reality,  by  being  placed  at  so  ^reat  a 
distance  from  him.  'J  he  objects  do  not  appear  little  to 
him  because  they  are  remote. 

12.  He  considers,  that  those  pleasures  and  pains  wbieli 
lie  hid  in  eternity,  approach  ueartir  to   him  wverj  i^*# 


IT4  EftflLiiii  II11ADK&.  Pttt  t. 

nient ;  and  will  he  prese:it  with  him  tn  thf'h*  fell  werj^ht 
jiad  measurts  as  uiuch  as  those  pr  ins  arfd  pleaaiire^  which 
Ixf  fo.els  at  trtis  very  instant.  For  this  reason,  he  is  care^ 
Till  to  secuun  t«)  hinist'lf  thnt  which  is  the  proper  haj-^pj- 
ness  of  his  nHtiirf.,  and  the  ultimate  desi^;n  of  his  bein^. 

IS.  lie  carles  his  thouj^hts  to  the  end  of  every  action; 
nnd  considers  the  most  distant  as  vfktW  as  the  most  imme- 
diate efiects  of  it.  Ife  supersedes"  every  Utile  prospect  of 
g  ain  .«nd  advantage  which  offers  itself  here,  if  he  does  not 
i\n(\.  it  consistent  with  his  views  of  an  hereafter.  In  a* 
word  his  hopes  Jire  full  ^'f  immortiiiity ;  his  schemes"  are' 
|arj;:e  and  j^loriuiis ;  and  ids  conduct  suitable  to  one  v*^ho 
knows  his  true  ititeresi,  and  how  to  pursue  it  by  proper 
methods.  addison. 

SECTlOxN  V. 

a"'Ac-CO,un-ta-b!v,    Ak-I(6i^n'-tft-bl,    ro-|/  Ex-pul-jsion,  S1cB-p5!'-»h5n,  ths  acto. 


Kijoii.siliio,  of  whom  un  account  riKiy 

be  rciiylfed 
k  V6l-un-ia-.ry,  v6r-fin^(4-re,  acting  by 

ch/>.icji^ 
t  O-rijfj-iml-Jv,  4  Hd'-j^-n^l-!*,  priiaa- 

rily,  at  fir/i,  as'ihf  firwi  ^lutliur 
d  Re  ix'p-tion.   ri->;^i)'-»:l)?iii,  the  uct  of 

rc'-yiviii':,  rciniBfrifm 
0  ^V-piup,  ^{i-j)lnn',  lying  witlj  Uie  tact* 

t»p\va,r«l.s,  iiulolcnt 
/  ^c-lax-a  tioti.  i*;-IAkeA'-shftn,  Ji  re- 

initiftioii  from  biisiiirt.''s  or  study' 
g  Rove,  rAvo,  to  rainbWi.  to  wimrler 
k  Kn-tlro.  ^n-ilro",  whdie,  unTivided 
•  .Pro«-fi-fute,  pr6<'-,tA-!iii».«,  to  disposu  of 

upon  wicked  iHrms,  a  hireling 


expellinjf 

k  Ke-rniss,  ri-mls',  ip!ark,«»:Iothfu!,  idle 
I  Un-restrain-ed,  fin-ri-giriii'a',  Juose, 

not  limited 
m  Tn-ces-t:ant,  Im-sCk' sinK  contitninl 
Per  rnH-neut,  pSr'-nm  ni^iit,   durable, 

lasting 
u  Do-visc,  di-vlze',  to  contrive,  to  grant 

by  will 
p  Pcr-i-'fi-irate,  pSr'-pi-trit«,  to  commit 

a  r.riir.e 
q   Mis-ap  pli-ca-tion,      mli«-Ap-pli-ki!i'- 

6)ii'iii,'a  wiofig  applicaiitm 
r  In-f(;l-lt;r-ru-a!,  'lii-t^.i  ifck'-tshii-Al,  ro- 

Inticff  U)  the  mind 
A-  l-de-{il,  i-d«'-4l,  niunial,  intolleciual 


Qn  the  governmc7it  of  our  thoughts, 
1.  A  MiLTiTUDE  of  cases  pccn;-,  in  which  we  are  n© 
less  a«xountab,le'  for  what  we  think,  than  for  what  we  do. 
As,  first,  when  tile  in.irodu.ctJMn  of  any  train  of  thought 
depends  upon  ourselves,  and  ,is  our  v(>^unta;-y^  act,  by 
turnin»-  oi!ir  at^tention  towji^dii  such  objv'Cts,  awaltenhijr 
such  passions,  (>,r  enj^u;r;ing:  in  such  e/riployments,  as  'we 
know  mu.st  giye  a  peculiar  determination  l,o  uur  thoughts. 
Next,  wl\e!i  thoup;ht,s,  by  whatever  accident  they  may 
have  been  orij^initUy  su5;ge{>ted,  are  indiU,2;ed  kvith  delib- 
eration and  con.phicency. 

£.  Th,ouu;h  the  mind  has  been  passive  in  their  recepr 
tion,^  and,  therefore,  free  from  blame;  yet,  if  it  be  active 
IB  tlieir  c,^tinuanc«^  t|ie  guilt  }>ecc»{2^e«  iU  9WD.     T^^ 


may  have  Intruded  at  first,  like  unhidden  gii^te  ;  hut  tf 
when  entered,  they  are  made  utlcome,  and  kindly  vnlti- 
lained,  ll)e  case  is  the  same  as  if  they  had  been  iuviuU 
(rem  the  beginning. 

S.  If  we  are  thus  accountable  to  God  for  thono;htB  ei- 
ther voluntarily  introduced,  ur  deliberately  indulged,  we 
are  no  less  so,  in  tlie  laet  place,  for  those  which  find  ad* 
^littancc  into  our  hearts  from  supine*  m'gligencr,  from 
total  relaxation/ of  attention,  from  allowing  our  imaj^ina-  ' 
tion  to  rove,5'  with  entire'*  licence,  **  like  the  eyes  ol  the 
fool,  towards  the  end  of  the  earth.'* 

4.  Our  minds  are,  in  this  case,  thrown  open  to  folly 
and  vanit}i[j  They  are  prostituted'  to  every  evil  thing 
which  pieces  to  takfe  possessiiju.  The  consequences 
must  ail  be  charged  to  our  account  ;  and  in  vain  we  pUad 
excuse  from  human  infirmity.  Hence  it  appears,  that 
llie  great  object  at  which  Ave  are  to  aim  in  governing  our 
thoughts,  is,"  to  take  the  mcst  efiectual  measures  for  pr*« 
Venting  the  introduction  of  such  as  are  smful ;  ana  for 
hastening  their  expulsion, >  if  ibey  shall  have  introduced 
themselves  without  consent  of  the  will. 

5.  But  when  we  descend  into  our  breasts,  and  examinii 
how  far  we  have  studied  to  keep  this  object  in  view,  who 
can  tell,  "■  how  oft  he  hath  ofienaed  ?"  In  no  article  of  reli- 
gion or  morals  are  men  more  culpably  remiss,*  than  in  thu 
unrestrained'  indulgence  they  give  to  fancy  ;  and  that  too, 
for  the  most  part,  without  remorse.  Since  the  time  that 
reason  began  to  exer|;  her  powers,  thought,  during  our 
waking  hours,  has  been  active  in  every  breast,  without  a 
moment's  suspension  or  pause. 

6.  The  current  of  ideas  has  been  always  flowing.  Th« 
wheels  of  the  spiritual  engine  have  circulated  with  p€J^ 
petual  motion.  Let  me  ask,  what  has  been  the  fruit  o^ 
thisincessant"*  activity,  with  the  greater  part  of  mankind  ? 
Of  the  innumerable  hours  th;-t  have  been  employed  in 
thought,  how  few  are  marked  with  any  permanent*  or 
useful  effect  ?  How  many  have  either  passed  away  in 
idle  dreams  ;  or  have  been  abandoned  to  anxious  discon- 
tented musings,  to  unsocial  and  malignant  passions,  or  to 
irregular  and  criminal  desires  ? 

7    Had  1  power  to  lay  open  that  storehouse  of  iniquity 
which  the  hearts  of  too  many  conceal ;  could  I  draw  out 
And  read  to  them  a  list  of  all  the  imaginations  they  baY«^ 
deviseds  and  all  the  passions  they  hava  indtilg<i4  ui  »^ 
*iHit ;  what  a  pictura  of  men  should  1  preaeot  to  them** 


1 


felr«ft  What  crimea  would  they  appear  to  hare  ptvpft^ 
trated^  in  secrecy  which  to  their  most  intimate  compan-^ 
ions  they  durst  not  reveal ! 

8.  Bven  when  men  imag,ine  their  thoupjhts  to  be  inno- 
cently emj)loyed,  they  too  commonly  sufier  them  to  rvm 
out  into  extravagant  imaj;inalions  and  chimerical  plans  of 
tvhat  they  would  wish  to  attain,  or  choose  to  be,  if  they 
could  frame  the  coqrb-e  of  things  according  to  their  def 
sire.  Though  such  employments  of  fancy  come  not  unr 
der  the  same  description  with  those  whif^h  are  plainly 
criminal  yet  wholly  unblamaliie  they  seldom  are* 

9.  Besides  the  waste  of  time  which  they  occasion,  and 
the  misapplication?  which  they  indicate  of  those  intel- 
lectual'- pox^iers  that  were  given  to  us  for  mlich  nobler 
purposes,  such  romantic  speculation  leads  us  always  into 
the  neighbourhood  of  forbidden  regions.  They  place  us 
on  dangerous  ground.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  con- 
nected with  some  one  bad  passion  ;  and  they  always 
nounsha  giddy  and  frivolous  turn  of  thought. 

10.  They  unfit  the  mind  for  applying  with  vigour  to 
rational  pursuits,  or  for  i^cquiescing  in  sober  plans  of  pon- 
duct.  From  that  ideal'  world  in  which  it  allows  itse[f  to 
dwell,  it  returns  to  the  commerce  of  men,  unbent  and  re- 
laxed, sickly  and  tainted,  averse  to  discharging  the  du- 
^jes,  and  ^sometimes  disqualified  even  for  relishing  thjt 
pleasures  of  ordinary  life.  BjLAia. 


SECTION  yi. 

•  Ro-vo^l,  r4-v61t',  to  fall  off,  desert      .        lion  of  reaiion 
k  Re-bol,  ri-l)Si',  ty  revolt,  to  rise  iii  op- 

pObiiion 

c  Im-pet-u-os  i-tj',  Jm-pJt9h-ii-6»'-i-te, 
violence,  fury 

d  Pur-suit,  pilr-Kiiie',  the  act  of  pursu- 
ing, chase 

•  I>is-com-p)08«,  d!8rk6m-pize',  to  d'a 

order,  oftVud 
/  Dis-qual  i-ty,  d!3-kw6r-^-f I,  IQ  make 

»nlit,  to  disable  byBOine  imKirui  oi 

legal  iajpedimeot 
f  Iii-tat-ij-a-;ion,  in-fatsh-6-i,'-sh&n,  the 

act  of  striking  wiih  folly,  depriva- 


A  Se-duce,  s^-d6se',  to  tempt,  tniilead 
i  Calm-Iy,    kJiin'-li,  without  noiM  or 

passion 
j  Fer-liie,  f^r'-tll,  fruitful,  abondant 
k  As-sas-sifj,  4s  84s'-sln,  a  murderer 
I  Copi-ous,  kA'-pi-Sd,  plentiful,  abov 

dnnt 
in,  Trag-i-cal,   tr4d'-ji-k4l,    mournful, 

cala;nitous 
n  Bane-ful,   bine'-fil,  poisonous,   d«f 

Etruf^tivo 
0  Li-C8utious,  Il-sSn'-sbfis,  unrestrainei 

by  law  or  morality 


On  the  evils  which  flaw  from  unrestrained  passions. 

1.  WhexV  man  revolted'*  from  his  maker,  his  passions 

rebelled*  against  himself;  and,  from  being  originally  tb© 

ministers  of  reason,  have  become  the  tyrants  of  the  souL 

viirQce,  iuD  treating  of  thi»  auh\Act  two  thloa^B  may  be  u^ 


Cffcpp,  Ow  FmoMi8ccor8  PiECit.  \7i 

iumed  a*  principles  ;  first,  that  through  the  preefint  weak 
ness  of  the  understanding',  our  passions  are  often  directed 
towards  in^proper  objects:  and  next,  that  even  when 
their  direction  is  just,  and  their  objects  are  innocent,  they 
perpetually  tend  to  run  into  excess ;  they  always  hurry 
us  towards  their  gratification,  with  a  blind  and  dangerous 
impetuosity.*^ 

2.  On  these  two  points  then  turns  the  whole  govern- 
merit  of  o\u-  passions  :  first,  to  ascertain  the  proj)er  ob« 
«ects  of  tht'ir  pursuit  ;<'  and  next,  to  restrain  them  in  that 
pursuit,  when  they  would  carry  us  beyond  the  bounds  of 
reason.  If  there  is  any  passion  which  intrudes  itself  un- 
seasonably into  oui*  mind,  which  darkens  and  troubles  our 
judgment,  or  habitually  discomposes'  our  temper  ;  which 
unfits  us  for  properly  discharging  the  duties,* or  disquali- 
fies/ us  for  cheerfully  enjoying  the  comforts  of  life,  we 
may  certainly  conclude  it  to  have  gained  a  dangerous  as- 
cendant. 

S.  The  great  object  which  we  ought  to  propose  to  our- 
selves is,  to  acquire  a  firm  and  steadfast  mina,  which  th« 
infatuations  of  passion  siiall  not  seduce,  nor  its  violcnca 
shake ;  which,  resting  on  fixed  principles,  shall,  in  the 
midst  of  contending  emotions,  remain  free,  and  master  ol 
itself;  able  trt  listen  calmly*  to  the  voice  of  conscience, 
and  prepared  to  obey  its  dictates  without  hesitation. 

4.  To  obtain,  if  possible,  such  command  of  passion,  it 
.one  of  the  highest  attainments  of  the  rational  nature.— 
Arguments  to  show  its  importance  crowd  upon  us  from 
evi-ry  quarter.  If  there  be  any  fertile^  source  of  mischief 
,to  human  life,  it  is,  beyond  cloubt,  the  misrule  of  paa- 
-sion.  It  is  this  which  poisons  the  enjoyment  of  indivi- 
.duals,  overturns  the  order  of  society,  and  strews  the  path 
,of  life  with  so  many  miseries,  as  to  render  it  indeeci  the 

Tale  of  tears. 

5.  All  those  great  scenes  of  pubhc  calamity,  which 
t^e  behold  with  astonishment  ?na  horror,  have  originated 
ifrom  the  source  of  violent  passions.  These  have  over- 
,3Pread  the  earth  with  blooashed.  These  have  pointed 
tne  assassin's*  dagger,  and  filled  the  poisoned  Cow  w— 
These,  ir^.every  age,  have  furnished  too  copious'  materi- 
als for  the  orator's  pathetic  declamation,  and  for  the  po- 
et*s  tragical*  song. 

6.  When  from  public  life  we  descend  to  private  con- 
duct, though  passion  operates  not  there  in  so  wide  and 

I  d«.6tructive  a  sphere,  we  shall  find  its  influence  to  be  do 


tr« 


|'^^•eLISll  Ry-AWft^. 


Part  I 


Itm  t>encftH.??     I  qeed  not  mention  the  \}\in:k  and  fierc* 
passions,   such  as  envy,  jerilousv,  and  revenge,  \>ho3e  efr  i 
fects  an*,  obviously  noxious,  and  whose  agiUitions  are  im- 
mediate  misery.   '  ^  ' 

7.  iiut  take  any  of  the  Hcentioiig^  and  sensual  kind. 
Suppose  it  to  have  unlimit<'d  scope  ;  trace  it  throui^ii- 
out  Its  course  ;  and  ^f  e  shall  find  that  s^radually,  as  it  rises, 
it  taints  the  soundness,  and  troubli-s  the  peace  of  liis 
mind,  overwfiom  it  reij^ns  ;  that,  in  its  prot;ress,  it  enj^a- 
ges  him  in  pursuits  which  are  niarked  either  witli  dan- 
ger or  witli  shame  ;  that,  in  the  end,  it  wastes  his  fortune, 
destroys  his  health,  or  di'bases  his  character;  and  agj^ra- 
vat«-8  all  the  miseries  in  which  it  has  involved  him,  with 
the  concludinj^  pr.ngs  of  hitter  remorse.  Through  all 
(he  stages  of  this  fatal  course,  how  many  haye  heretofore 
run?  What' multitudes  do  we  daijy  behold  pursuing  it, 
with  bhnd  and  headlong  steps?  blair. 


SECTION  VII. 


«  Un-a-Toid-fible,   fini-vA1<l'-A-l>l,  in 

evitable 
b  Sus-pic-ious,  8?is-p!Bh'-6H,  incline:!  to 

HUspect 
t  Aid,  idc,  help,  support,   to  help,  to 

support 
d  Ce-ineiit,  H^m^ri?',  to  unite  by  means 

•f  ttuinethiiig  interposed 


e  Concern,  Vfrnahn',  to  relate  to,  in- 
terest, blisijl  MS 

/  Vi-olcnt,  vl'-A  If^iit,   forcible,   voh«- 

m»i)t 
"•  Di*;g-uise,  dTzsj  ytze',  to  conceal,  di»- 

graec,  defoini ' 
h  In  Junc-tioii,  !n  jfink'-shSn,  command, 

order 


On  the  proper  state  of  our  temper^  loith  respect  to  one  another, 

1.  It  is  evident,  in  the  general,  that  if  we  consult 
either  public  welfare  or  private  happiness,  Christian  cha^ 
rity  ought  to  regulate  our  disposition  in  mutual  inter- 
course. But  as  this  great  principle  admits  of  several  di- 
versified appearances,  let  us  consider  some  of  the  chiei 
forms  under  which  it  ought  to  show  itself  in  the  usild 
lenorof  life. 

2.  What,  first,  presents  itself  to  be  recommended,  's  a 
peaceable  temper  ;  a  disposition  averse  to  give  offence,  and 
desirous  of  cultivating  harmony,  and  amicable  intercourse 
in  society.  This  supposes  yielding  and  condescending  man* 
ners,  unwillingness  to  contend  with  others  about  trifles, 
and,  in  contests  that  are  unavoidable,'*  proper  moderation 
of  spirit.  Such  a  temper  is  the  first  princi])le  of  self-en- 
ioyraent.  It  is  tlie  basis  of  all  order  and  happiness  a 
mong  mankind. 

8.  The  positive  and  conteirtioui  the  •^ide  and  •attircV* 


Cnap*  ^  pROMiScuoui  PiKcics.  1?9 

•oxne,  are  Che  bane  of  society.  They  s«eiTi  tietrflixid  tu 
blast  the  small  share  of  conilbit  wiiirh  nature  haa  bur« 
allotted  to  man.  iiut  they  cHimot  disturb  the  penc«  of 
lathers,  more  than  they  break  tlieir  o\\n.^  The  hiirritaiin 
rages  first  in  their  own  bosom,  before  it  is  let  forth  upon 
the  ^vorld.  in  the  tempests  ^vhi^h  they  raise,  they  are 
always  tost,- and  fi-^quently  it  is  their  lot  to  perish. 

4.  A  peaceful  temper  must  be  supported  oy  a  candid 
one,^or  a  disposition  to  view  the  conduct  of  others  with 
fairness  and  impartiality.  Tliis  stands  op})osed,  to  a 
jealous  and  suspicious''  temper,  which  a^T^bes  every  ac* 
tion  to  the  worst  motive,  and  throws  a  l)lack  shade  OT*r 
every  character.  If  we  would  be  happy  in  ourselves,  or 
in  our  connexions  uith  otiiers,  let  us  guard  againut  this 
iiialiji;nant  spirit. 

5.  Let  us  study  that  charity  '*  which  thinketh  no  ctil  ;** 
that  tenjper  which,  without  degenerating  into  credulity, 
w\\\  dispose  us  to  be  just ;  and  which  can  allow  us  to  ob- 
iBcrve  an  error,  ^vithout  imputing  it  as  a  crime.     Thus  we 

shall  be  kept  free  from  that  continual  irritation,  which 
Imaginary  mjuries  raise  in  a  suspicious  breast;  and  shail 
walk  among  men  as  our  brethren,  not  as  our  enemies. 

6.  But  to  be  peaceable,  and  to  be  candid,*  is  not  all 
that  is  required  of  a  good  man.  He  rnust  cultivate  a 
kind,  generous,  and  sympathizing  temper,  which  fculs 
for  distress,  wherever  it  is  beheld  ;  which  enters  into 
the  concerns  of  his  friends  with  ardour ;  and  to  all  with 
whom  he  has  intercourse,  is  gentle,  obhginjj,  and  humane. 

7.  How  amiable  appears  such  a  disposition,  when  con- 
trasted with  a  malicious  or  envious  teiTiper,  w  hich  wrapd 
itself  up  in  its  own  narrow  interest,  looks  with  an  evil  eye 
on  the  success  of  others,  and,  with  an  unnatural  satisfuc- 

I  tion,  feeds  on  their  disappointments  or  miseries!  How 
!  little  does  he  know  of  the  true  happiness  of  life,  who  is 
la  stranger  to  the  intercourse  of  good  ofRces  and  kind 
jnffections,  which,  by  a  pleasing  charm,  attaches  men  to 
one  another,  and  circulates  joy  from  heart  to  heart ! 

8.  We  are  not  to  imagine,  that  a  benevolent  temper 
lifinds  no  exercise,  unless  when  opportunities  offer  'o(  pe*»- 
irforming  actions  of  high  generosity,  or  of  extensivv  uiliity. 
|These  may  seldom  occur.  The  condition  of  the  ^prtsy^ 
|ler  part  of  mankind,  in  a  good  measure,  prcchidei'  th«iiv. 
But,  in  the  ordinary  round  of  human  affairs,  many  o©* 
casions  daily  present  themselves,  of  initi^atis^  ti2«  %t^ 
eitiooi  which  others  suffer  ;  of  soothing  a 


1 


alStng  their  interest;  of  promoting  t^eir  <ihecrfblncss,  <«r 
ease.  Such  occasions  may  relate  tp  ,tiie  smaller  inddent»' 
©flife. 

9.  Outlet  us  remomber,  that  of  snaall  incidents  the  syW 
ttm  of  human  life  is  chiefly  .composed.     The  attentionMl 
"which  respect  these,  when  sup:gested  hy  real  benignity  of' 
temper,  are  often  more  material  to  the  happiness  of  those 
around    us,  than   actions  which   carry  the  appearance  of 
greater  dignity  and   splendour.     No  wise  or  good  man 
ought  to  account  any  ruley  of  behaviour  as  below  his  re- 
gard, which  tend  to  cement^  the  great  brotherhood  of 
in;»nkind  in  comfortable  union. 

10.  Particularly  amidst  that  familiar  intercourse  which 
belongs  to  domestic  life,  all  the  virtues  of  temper  fin^ 
an  ample  range.  It  is  very  unfortunate,  that  within  that 
circle,  men  too  often  think  themselves  at  liberty,  te  give 
unrestrained  vent  to  the  caprice  of  passion-  and  humour. 
Whereas  there,  on  the  contrary,  more  than  any  where 
else,  it  concerns*  them  to  attend  to  the  government  of 
their  heart;  to  check  what  is  violent/ in  their  ttnpipers> 
and  to  soften  what  is  harsh  in  their  manners. 

11.  For  there  the  temper  is  formed.  There  the  real 
character' displays  itself.  The  forms  of  the  world  dis- 
guiser  men  when  abroad.  But  within  his  own  family, 
every  man  is  known  to  be  what  he  truly  is.  In  all  ouir 
intercourse  then  with  others,  particularly  in  that  which  is 
closest  and  most  intimate,  let  us  cultivate  a  peaceable,  a 
cjindid,  a  j^entle,  and  friendly  temper.  This  is  the  tem- 
per to  which,  by  repeated  injunctions,*  our  holy  religioD 
feeks  to  lorm  us.  This  was  th<?  temper  of  Christ.  Tnis 
M  the  temper  of  Heaven.  blai*. 

SECTION  vin. 


a  In-ex-lmuB-ti'ble,  tD-fiks-hiwg'-tibl. 

not  to  b«  spent 
k  Ma^ev-o-lenc6,  ra4-Ilv'-vA-l£nse,  il! 

will,  Hpite 
c  Pa-tri-ot-isin,  pi'-tr4-fit-!znrj,  love  o! 

one's  country 
d  In-*pirc,  In-splre',  to  breathe  into,  ti  i 


animate  by  nupftwatnral  infusion 
6  Dfo-vout,  d^-vdSt',  pious,  religious 
/  Mag-nif-i-cerit,  rnig-n!f'-ft-g4nt,  grand 

in  appearance 
Brev-i  ty,    hr^v'-i-ti,    eoDciseness, 

shortness 


Excellence  of  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
I.  Is  it  bigotry  to  believe  the  sublime  truths  of  tha 
Gospel,  with  full  assurance  of  fiith  ?  I  glory  in  such  big- 
otry.    1  would  not  part  with  it  for  a  thousand  worlds.— 
rfi  congratulate  the  man  who  is  possessed  of  it«lor.m*j 

1 


Phap.    9.  rBOKI0CU0L8    FlECZB.  \t\^ 

midst  ftH  the  vicissitudes  and  calamities  of  the  pmcnt 
BtatP,  that  man  enjoys  an  inexhaustiCl^^*"  fund  of  consola- 
iTon,  of  which  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  fortune  lo  de* 
prive  him. 

^.  There  is  not  a  book  on  eartn,  so  favoiivaWe  to  all 
the  kind,  and  all  the  sublime  affections ;  or  so  uniriendly 
to  hatred  and  persecution,  to  tyranny,  to  injiislice,  and 
every  sort  of  malevolence,*  as  the  Go^i^el.  It  breathes 
nothing  throughout,  hut  mercy,  henevolencc,  and  peace. 

3.  Poetry  is  sublime,  when  )t  awakens  in  the  mind  anjf 
great  and  good  affection,  as  piety,  or  patriotism.*  This 
is  one  of  the  noblest  effects  of  tiie  art.  The  Psalms  are 
remarkablt^,  beyond  all  other  uriting*,  for  their  power  of 
inspiring  devout' emotions.  But  ie  is  not  in  this  respect 
only,  the  most  magnificent  descriptions,  that  the  soul  < . 
man  can  comprehend.  The  iiundred  and  fourth  Psriim, 
in  particular,  displays  the  power  and  g(>odness  ol  Provi- 
dence, in  creating  and  preserving  the  worki,  and  the  va- 
rious tribes  of  animals  in  it,  witu  such  majestic  brevity,* 
and  beauty,  as  it  is  vain  to  looic  for  in  any  human  com- 
position. 

4.  Such  pf  U\e,  doctrines  of  the  Gospel  as  are  lerf;!  to 
human  capacity,  appear  to  |)e  agreeable  to  the  purest 
truth,  and  the  soundest  morality.  All  the  genius  and 
learning  of  the  heathen  worlu  ;  all  the  penetration  of 
Pythaj^oras,  Socrates,  and  Aristotle,  had  never  been  able 
to  produce  such  a  system  of  moral  duty,  and  ^o  rational 
an  accQuntof  Providence  and  of  man,  as  are  to  be  found 
in  the  New  Testament.  Compared,  indeed,  with  this,  all 
other  moral  and  theological  wisdom 

Loses,  discounienanc'd,  and  like  folly  show*. 
i  BE  ATT  IB. 

'  SEcfroN  IX. 


•  ViC-to-ri-ous,  vlk-ti'-ri-fis,  conquer- 
ing 
h  Gau-dy,  g4w'-di,    showy,  splendid, 

fine 
•  jFor-ti-tude,f5r'-ti-t6de,  courage,  bra- 
)  very 


(i  Sustain,  B&s-t&De',  to  bear,  support 

help  • 
e  An-ciont,  4ne'-t»h2nt,  old,  not  mod 

eri) 
/  Lus  ire,  Ifis'-ior,  brightness,  leoowu 


t  •  Sftflections  occasioned  hij  a  review  of  the  blessings^  pronoun^. 

ced  by  Christ  on  his  discipItSy  in  his  sermon  on  the  mounU 

\^  What    abundant  reason  have  we  to  thank  God, 

that  this  large  and  instructive  discourse  of  our  blessed 

Redeemer,  is  so  particularly  recorded  by  the  sacred  his- 

"^twijrian.     l*et  every  one  that  **  hath  ea;yi  tp  hear/'  ^^imt 


ti$  £2<eL|«H  Keadva.  Han    1. 

t»  it :  fbr  sftT^lj  no  man  erer  epoke  as  our  Lord  did  oq 
tiara  occasion.  Let  ua  fix  our  minds  in  a  posture  of  hum* 
^bh  attention,  that  wfe  may  "  receive  the  law  from  his 
mouth." 

2.  He  opened  it  with  blessings,  repeated  and  most  im- 
portant blessings.  But  on  whom  are  they  pronounced  ? 
And  whom  are  we  taught  to  think  the  happiest  of  man- 
Kind  ?  The  meek  and  the  humble  ;  the  penitent  and  the 
merciful ;  the  peaceful  and  the  pure ;  those  that  hunger 
and  thirst  after  righteousness ;  those  that  labour,  but 
faint  not,  under  persecution  !  Lord  !  how  different  are  thy 
maxims  from  those  of  the  children  of  this  world  ! 

3.  They  call  the  proud  happy ;  and  admire,  the  gay, 
the  rich,  the  powerful,  and  the  victorious.^  But  let  a  vam 
world  take  its  gaud}'^*  trifles,  and  dress  up  the  foolish 
creatures  that  pursue  them.  May  our  souls  share  in  that 
happiness,  which  the  Son  of  Goa  came  to  recommend 
%nd  to  procure  !  May  we  obtain  mercy  of  the  Lord  ;  may 
we  be  owned  as  his  children ;  enjoy  his  presence ;  and 
inherit  his  kingdom  !  With  these  enjoyments,  and  these 
hopes,  we  will  cheerfully  welcome  the  lowest,  or  the 
most  painful  circumstances. 

4.  Let  us  be  animated  to  cultivate  those  amiable  virtues, 
which  are  here  recommended  to  us ;  this  humility  and 
meekness  ;  this  penitent  .^ense  of  sin  ;  this  ardent  desire 
after  righteousness ;  this  compassion  and  purity ;  this 
peacefulness  and  fortitude*^  of  soul ;  and,  in  a  word,  this 
universal  goodnefis  ^vhich  becomes  us  as  we  sustain**  the 
character  of  *'  the  salt  of  the  earth,**  and  **  the  light  o( 
the  world.'* 

5.  Is  there  not  reason  to  lament,  that  we  answer  the 
character  no  better  ?  Is  there  not  reason  to  exclaim  with 
a  good  man  in  former  times,  '* Blessed  Lord.'  either  these 
are  not  Ihy  words,  or  we  are  not  Christians  !'*  Oh,  season 
our  hearts  more  effectually  with  thy  grace !  Pour  forth 
that  divine  oil  on  our  lamps !  Then  shall  the  flame  bright- 
en ;  then  shall  the  ancient*  honours  of  thy  religion  be  re- 
vived ;  and  multitudes  be  awakened  and  animated,  by  the 
lustrii/"  of  it,  '*  to  glorify  our  Father  in  heaven.*' 

DODDRIDGE. 


SLCTION  X. 

«  ll-1u-flor-y,    IMi'-gfir-ri,    decoiviny,  j        honour 

fraudulent  Lc  Ben-e-dic-tloB,  b8n-4-fflk' 

^  Oa  lii^  kA'-B^  «  mabouMlftD,  title  of]       §ba§,  »cfcDowla4agiwat 


d  A-gll  i-tj,  t-pr-k-ik,  nlmblenw*,  »c-|        city 

tivity  jm  Ru-rul,  rtb'-ril,  ttxtsttt^g  lo,  or  r«l»- 

f  Vice-roy,  rUe'-rAi,  ho  v,ho   jjovern«         Vns  to  thecountrr 

in  pince  of  U»e  kiug  with  legal  au-ii  Ob-scu-ri-ty,  6b-8kV-r^t*,  dwkoe^t, 


thority 
/  Do-cil-i-ty,  di-ell'-i-ti,  aptness  to  be 

taught 
f  Ex  ircm-i-fy,  ^s-tr2m'-i-t*,  the   ut 

most  pnint 
h  Im  pan,  Im-pirt',  to  give,  commuiii 

caie 
i  Survey,  s5r-vi',  to  overlook,  to  hav  t 

under  the  vi«w,  a  view,  apro8|un-. 
j  Va  ri-ous,    vi'-ri-fis,  ditferent,  *cvo 

ral 
k  Ac-cu  inu-la-tion,  ftk-kii-mu-lt'-fhiin 

Incred^u,  »ddiiiou 


p.ivncy 

o  S<-hf'rne,**k*n)e,  a  pl*n,  dcmif/i 

p  ln-d*l-i-bly,ln-fljr-.i-bli,  in  a  manner 
not  t«>  be  effaced 

q  Po6t»pone,  pjisl-piue',  to  put  off,  de- 
lay 

r  Im-umre,  im-mftre',  to  confine,  shut 

3  Inna-ti-a-hle,  !n-v4 -shA-4-bl,  irttb 
Pii-edir'e«s 

/.  Goii-uu  bi-al,  kAu-n6'rbc-il,  matrimo- 
nial 

tt    Con-icm-pla-iiv*',    kin-t^m -])I4-tlr, 


gi^-urb,   j*Cib-uib,  the  out  part  of  a        Biufiuu*,  ihongblfui 

Schemes  of  life  often  illv.wry.'* 

1.  Omar,  the  sun  of  Ilassjin,  had  ]>jisbed  seventy-five 
years  in  hunuiir  and  prosperity.  1  he  favour  of  ihre* 
successive  califs''  had  nlled  his  house  witli  gold  and  sil' 
ver ;  and  whenever  he  appeared,  the  benedittions'  c{ 
the  people  proclaimed  his  passage. 

2.  Terrestrial  happiness  is  of  short  continuance.  Tha 
brightness  of  the  flame  is  wasting  its  fuel;  the  fragrant 
flpweris  passing  away  in  its  own  odours.  The  vigour  ol 
Omar  began  to  fail  ;  the  curls  of  beauty  fell  from  his 
head  :  strength  departed  from  liis  hands  ;  and  agility  from 
his  feet.  He  gave  back  to  the  calif  the  keys  of  trust,  and 
the  3eals  of  secrecy ;  and  sought  no  other  pleasure  for 
the  remains  of  life,  than  the  converse  of  the  wise,  and 
the  gratitude  of  the  good. 

S.  The  powers  of  his  mind  wfr'»  yet  unimpaired.  Hia 
chamber  was  fdled  by  visitai:ts,  ciicer  to  catch  the  dic- 
tates of  experience,  and  oflicious  t(»  pay  the  tribute  o( 
admiration.  Caled,  the  son  of  the  viceroy'  of  Egypt, 
entered  every  day  early,  and  retired  late.  He  was  bcau- 
tH*ul  and  eloquent ;  Omar  admired  ids  wit,  ?tnd  loved  his 
docility./ 

4.  "  Tell  me,'*  said  Caled,  *♦  thnit  to  whose  voice  na- 
tions have  listened,  and  whose  wisdom  is  known  to  the 
extremities?  of  Asia,  tell  me  how  1  may  resemble  Omar 
the  prudent.  The  arts  by  which  thou  hast  gained  powr 
and  preserved  ft,  are  to  thee  no  longer  necessary  or  us» 
ful;  impart*  to  me  the  secret  of  thy  conduct,  and  teaci 
me  the  plaa    wpon  which  thy  wisdom  has  built  thy  iom^ 


184  English  Rsadi^.  Port  i. 

6.  ••  YouDC  iijan,'*  said  Omar,  **  it  is  of  Iltt)©  M^e  to 
/orm  plans  of  life.  When  I  took  my  first  survey*  of  the 
world,  in  my  twentieth  year,  having  considered  the  ,va- 
riousy  conditions  of  mankind,  in  the  hour  of  solitude  I 
said  thus  to  myself,  leaning  against  a  cedar,  which  spread 
,its  branches  over  my  head  : 

6.  ''  Seventy  years  are  allowed  to  man ;  I  havt  y^t 
fifty  remaining.  Ten  years  I  will  allot  to  the  attainment 
of  Knowledge,  and  ten  1  will  pjiss  in  foreign  countries;  J 
shall  be  learned,  and  therefore  shall  be  honoured  ;  every 
city  will  shout  at  my  arrival,  and  every  stydent  will  soli- 
cit ray  friendship.  Twenty  years  thus  passed,  will  stoce 
my  mind  with  images,  which  1  shall  be  busy,  through  the 
rest  of  my  life,  in  combining  and  comparing. 

7.  *'  1  shall  revel  in  inexhaustible  accumulations*  of  iu- 
tellectual  riches  ;  I  shall  find  new  pleasures  for  every  mo- 
ment ;  and  shall  never  more  he  weary  of  myself.  1  w;i^ 
,not,  however,  deviate  too  far  from  the  beaten  track  oi 
fife  ;  but  will  try  what  can  be  found  in  female  delicacy.  I 
will  marry  a  wife  beautiful  as  the  Houries,  and  wise  as 
Eobeide ;  with  her  i  will  live  twenty  years  within  the 
suburbs' of  Bagdat,  '' \  every  pleasure  that  wealth  can 
purchase,  and  fancy  c.ui  invent. 

8.  "  1  will  then  retire  to  a  rural«  dwelling  ;  pass  my  days 
7a  obscurity*  and  contemplation  ;  and  lie  silently  down  on 
the  bed  of  death.  Through  my  life  it  shall  be  my  set- 
tled resolution,  that  I  will  never  d<^pend  upon  the  smile  of 
.princes  ;  that  I  will  never  stand  exposed  to  the  artifices  of 
courts ;  I  will  never  pant  for  public  honours,  nor  disturb 
my  Quietwith  the  affairs  of  state.  Such  was  my  scheme* 
01  life,  which  1  impressed  indelibly^'  upon  my  memory. 

9.  **  The  first  part  of  my  ensuing  time  was  to  be  spent 
in  search  of  knowledge,  and  I  know  not  how  I  was  di- 
verted from  my  design.  1  had  no  visible  impediment? 
•without,  nor  any  ungovernable  passions  within.  I  re- 
garded knowledge  as  the  highest  honour,  and  the  most  ' 
engaging  pleasure ;  yet  dav  stole  upon  day,  and  month 
glided  after  month,  till  I  found  that  seven  years  of  the 
Srst  ten  had  vanished,  and  left  nothing  behind  them. 

10.  **  1  now  postponed?  my  purpose  of  travelling;  for 
why  should  I  go  abroad,  while  so  much  remained  to  be 

Jearned  at  home  ?  1  immured'*  myself  for  four  years,  and 
studied  the  laws  of  the  empire.  The  fame  of  my  skiU 
reached  the  judges ;  1  was  found  able  to  speak  upoo 
,4p<uhtftil  questions  ;  and  was  commanded  to  stand  at  the- 


footstool  of  tlue  calif.     1  was  heard  with  atterjtmn  ;  I 
consulted  with  confidence  ;  and  the  Ittve  of  praise  fasten* 
ed  on  my  heart. 

11.  "1  still  wished  to  see  distant  countrkii ;  Kstened 
with  raptui*e  to  the  relations  of  travellers ;  and  resolved 
some  time  to  ask  my  dismission^  that  1  might  feast  my 
soul  with  novelty ;  hut  my  presence  was  alwj^ys  neces- 
sary ;  an4  the  stream  of  busiiiess  hurried  me  alpng^.— 
Sometimes  1  was  afraid  lest  1  should  be  charged  with  in- 
gratitude :  but  1  still  proposed  to  travel^  aai  therfare 
would  not  confine  myself  by  marriage. 

12.  *'  In  my  fiftietn  year»  1  be^an  to  suspeet  that  the 
time  of  traveling  was  past;  and  thought  it  hest  to  lay- 
hold  on  the  felicity  yet  m  my  po\yer,  and  indulge  myself 
in  domestic  pleasures.  15ut  at  tifty  no  man  easily  nnda 
a  woman  beautiful  as  the  Houries,  and  wise  as  Zubeide. 
I  in(^uired  and  rejected,  consulted  and  deliberated^  till 
the  sixty-second  year  made  me  ashamed  of  wishing  t»> 
marry.  1  had  pow  aothing  left  but  retirement  ;  and  for 
retirement  1  never  found  a  time»  till  disease  farced  m» 
from  public  employment. 

13.  ''  Such  was  my  scheme,  and  ?uch  has  been  i|s  con- 
sequences. With  an  insatiable*  thirst  for  knowledge,!  tri- 
fled away  the  years  of  improvement;  with  a  restlesa  dc- 
Bir«  of  seeing  diifereht  countries,  1  have  always  resided 
in  the  same  city;  with  the  highest  expectation  of  connu- 
bial' feHcity.  1  have  lived  unmarried  ;  and  with  vnai^er- 
able  resolutions  of  contemplative"  retirement,  I  am  goin^ 
to  die  within  the  walls  of  i5ag;dat.'*  dr.  J0Hri30Jc. 


H  Re-lieve,  ri-l*4v',  fo  rupport,  agt-lu.* 

\  b  Di-laie,  d^-liie',  to  extend,  spread  out, 
to  relate  at  large 

I  «  At-trac-t:ve,  4t-tr&kt'-tlv,  inviting,  al- 
luring 

i  d  Coun-ter-bal-ance,ki6n-tfir-bir-Unse, 

I         to  act  ugaiuot   with    an    opposiit, 

1;  weiglit 

|j#  Grat-i-fi-ca-tion,     grAt-6-f4-kii'-8hftu, 

I  ilieact  ol  pieusing 


SECTION  XI. 

/  Cor-di-aJ-i-ty,  k6r-j4-AJ'-4-l*,  lii 

ty,  (riendbhip 
g  Mero-ly,  mi're'-li,  iitnply,  only 


h  El-e  vale,  ftl'-i-viite,  to  raii»e,  dignify 
{  En-no-bl«,  ia-DO'-bl,  toraiss  toaob{>- 

ivy 
j  E-utrarige,  4-8trinje',  to  witlidraw,  tm 

kee|)  Ht  a  distance 
k   Coni-iie-ii:-ioii,   k6m-p4-tl»h'-ia,   li- 

valry,  contest 


The  pleasures  of  virtuotis  sensibjKty, 
I.  The  good  effects  of  true  sensibihty  on  genera]  tif*. 
I'tue  and  happiness,  admit  of  no  dispute.'    Let  u?j  consideir 
its  eflfect  on  the  ha})piness  of  him  who  possesses  it,  an4 
UM  TarkMis  plefii»(^refl  tu  which  it  gire«  Uina  acottaa.    U  lkf» 


m  master  of  riches  or  influence,  it  affords  -htm  the  meanei 
of  increasing  his  own  enjoyment,  by  relieving"  the  wants, 
or  increasing  tlie  comforts  of  others. 

2.  If  he  commands  not  these  advantages,  yet  all  the 
comforts,  which  he  sees  in  the  possession  of  the  deserv- 
ing, become  in  some  sort  his,  by  his  rejoicing  in  the  good 
which  they  enjoy.  Even  the  face  of  nature  yields  a  sat- 
isfaction to  him,  which  the  insenb'ible  can  never  know.— • 
The  profusion  of  goodness,  which  he  beholds  poured 
forth  on  the  universe,  dilates'^  his  heart  with  the  thought, 
that  innumerable  multitudes  around  him  are  blest  and  ( 
happy. 

h.  When  he  sees  the  labours  of  men  appearing  to  pros* 
per,  and  views  a  cotnitry  flourishing  in  wealth  and  indus- 
try;  when  he  beholds  the  spring  coming  forth  in  its  beau- 
ty, and  reviving  the  decayed  fiice  of  nature;  or  in  autumrt 
beholds  the  fields  loaded  with  plenty,  and  the  year  crown- 
ed with  all  its  fruits ;  he  lifts  his  ailVrctiofis  with  gratitude 
to  the  great  Father  of  all,  and  rejoices  in  the  general  fe- 
licity and  Joy. 

4*  It  may  indeed  be  objected,  that  the  same  sensibility  ' 
lays  open  the  heart  to  be  pierced  with   many  wounds,  , 
from  the  distresses  which  abound  in  the  world  ;  exposes  i 
us  to  frequent  suffering  from  the  participation  which  it 
communicates  of  the  sorrows,   as  well  as  of  the  joys  ot 
friendship.     But  let  it  be  considered,  that  the  tender  mel- 
ancholy of  sympathy,  is  accompanied  with  a  sensation, 
which  they  who  feel  it  would  not  exchange  for  the  grat- 
iAcations  of  the  selfish. 

5*  When  the  heart  is  strongly  moved  by  any  of  the  ■- 
kind  affections,  even  when  it  pours  itself  forth  in  virtuous 
Borrow,  a  secret  attractivec  charm  mingles  with  the  pain- 
ful emotion  ;  there  is  a  joy  in  the  midst  of  grief.  Let  it 
be  farther  considered,  that  the  griefs  which  sensibility  in- 
troduces, are  counterbalanced^  by  pleasures  which  flow 
from  the  same  source.  Sensibility  heightens  in» general 
the  human  powers,  and  is  connected  with  acuteness  in 
all  our  feelings. 

6.  If  it  makes  us  more  alive  to  some  painful  sensations. 
In  return,  it  renders  the  pleasing  ones  more  vivid  and  an- 
imated. The  selfish  man  languishes  in  his  narrow  circle 
of  pleasures.  They  are  confined  to  what  affects  his  own 
iatefest.  He  is  obliged  to  repeat  the  same  gratifications^ 
till  they  become  insipid. 

7.  But  tho  man  of  vlrtuc^at  aeDsibility  mor«s  in  •  wi 


Chap*  9^  JPKOMiscrot79  Pik^jm.  t&^ 

der  sphere  (/ AiKcltjT'  His  powers  are  much  more  fti^. 
qut'ntly  called  forth  into  occupations  of  pleasing  actirity* 
Numberless  occasions  open  to  him  of  indulging  his  favour* 
ite  taste,  by  conveying  satisfaction  to  others.  Often  it  it 
m  his  power,  in  one  Way  or  other,  to  sooth  the  alHicted 
heart,  to  carry  some  consolation  into  the  house  of  wo. 

8.  In  the  seen;  s  of  oidinary  life,  in  the  domesCic  and 
social  ntercourse  of  men,  the  cordiality/ of  his  atfectior>s 
cheers  and  gladdens  hhn.  Every  appearance,  evety  de- 
scription of  innocent  happiness,  is  enjoyed  by  him.  Ev- 
ery native  expression  of  kindness  and  affection  among 
others,  is  felt  ny  him,  even  though  he  be  not  the  object 
of  it.  In  a  circle  of  friends  enjoying  one  ahvwther,  he  is 
as  happy  as  the  hajipiest. 

9.  in  a  word,  he  lives  in  a  diirerent  sort  of  wor]ld,  from 
what  the  selfish  man  inhabits.  He  ;  >ssesses  a  new  sense 
that  enables  him  to  behold  obj<?cts  Wi^ich  the  selfish  can- 
not see.  At  the  same  time,  his  enjoyments  are  not  of  that 
kind  which  remain  merely*  on  the  surface  of  the  mindl 
They  penetrate  the  heart.  They  enlarge  and  elevate,* 
they  refine  and  emiobie'  it.  To  all  the  pleaning  emotions 
of  affection,  they  add  the  dignified  consciousness  of  vir- 
tue. 

10.  Children  of  men !  men  formed  by  nature  to  liv« 
and  to  feel  as  brethren!  how  fonff  will  ye  continue  to  es- 
tranges yourselves  from  one  another  by  competitions*  and 
jealousies,   when  in  cordial  Vinson  ye  might  be  io  much 

more  blest?  How  long  will  ye  seek  your  happiness  in 
jelfish  gratifications  alone,  negrefling  those  purer  and 
jett'-r  sources  of  joy,  which  flow  from  the  afi'ections  and 
:he  heart  1  blair. 

SECTION  XII. 


Ra-nown,  ri-niAn',  fame,  celebrity 

Cou-qucftt,  kiiig'-kwSst,  victory,  sue 
ceiiu  in  arms 

Fa  nioui,  fi'-mR«,  renowned,  celebra- 
te*!  • 

Be-tlew,  bi-dii',  to  moisten,  gently 
ins,  rAp'-In,  ;lun(ler,  violence 
did,  sAi'dld,  foul,  msan,  covet- 
ous 

Su-pw-fic-ial,  «6-p4r-f!iih'-il,  lying  on 


III      ou 


the  f  urf?»c# 
A  Odi-ou«,6'-di-ll9,  or6'-j*-fts,  hftl«.^' 

deu  stable,  e.\(|08ed  to  h^le 
i  Co-los-sftl.  kA  i6s'sAl,  giani-like 
j  Er-u  dit-'ion,  if-6-di*li'-fin,  lesmiof^- 

knowledge 
k  Ili-val,  ri'-vAl,  competitor,  emulator 
I  O  vcr  awe,  6-v6r-4vv',  to  keep  iu  awif 
oi  Ef-fu-pion,  if-lV-zhfiQ,apouriiif  Mitg 


On  the  true  honour  of  man^ 
I.  Ts^  proper  honour  of  man  ariits  not  ftwn 


INI^  EkQJLIISII   ItSADKR.  yPoPl 

t^se  splendid  actions  and  abilities,  which  excite  high  2 
miration.  Courage  and  prowess,  military  renown"  ^ 
jial  victories  and  conquests,*  may  render  the  name 
man  famous,*?  without  rendering  his  character  truly 
oarable.  To  many  brave  men,  to  many  heroes  reno 
ed  in  story,  we  look  up  with  wonder.  Their  expli 
.are  recorded.  Their  praises  are  sung.  They  stani 
on  an  eminence  above  the  rest  of  mankind. 

£.  Their  emineuQe,  nevertheless,  may  not  be  of 
sort,  before  which  we  bow  with  inward  esteem  andl^ 
spect.  Something  more  is  wanted  for  that  purpose,  thh 
tne  conquering  arm,  and  the  intrepid  mind.  The  laurr 
of  the  warrior  must  a,t  all  times  be  dyed  in  blood,  ai 
bede>ved«^  with  the  tears  of  the  widow  and  the  orphans. 

.S.  J[iut  if  they  have  been  stained  by  rapine*  and  inbl 
manity  ;  if  sordid/ avarice  has  mwarked  his  character;  ; 
Jow  and  gross  sensuality  has  degraded  his  life  ;  the  grrt 
hero  sinks  into  a  little  man.  Wnat,  at  a  distance,  or  oi' 
superficial?  view,  we  admired,  -becomes  mean,  perhaj 
odiDus,^*  when  we  examine  it  moxe  closely.  It  is  like  tl 
(Colossal'  statue,  whose  immense  size  struck  the  specr 
tor  afar  off  with  astonishment ;  but  when  nearly  view<>* 
it  appears  disproportioned,  unshapely,  an^  rude. 

4.  Observations  of  the  same  kind  may  be  applied 
all  the  reputation  derived  from  civil  accomplishment 
from  the  refined  politics  of  the  statesman  ;  o,r  the  litera 
efforts  o?  genius  and  erudition.;  These  bestow,  a; 
within  certain  Ijovinds,  ought  to  bestow,  eminence  a; ' 
distinction  on  men.  They  discover  talents  which  in  thei 
•elves  are  shinini^ ;  and  which  become  highly  valuab 
when  employed  m  advancing  the  good  of  mankind.. 

5.  Hence,  they  frequently  give  rise  to  fame.  iBut 
distinction  is  to  be  made  between  fame  and  true  honoi 
The  statesman,  the  orator  or  the  poet,  may  be  famou 
while  yet  the  man  himself  is  far  from  being  honoure 
We  envy  his  abilities.  We  wish  to  rival*  them.  But  \ 
vould  not  choose  to  be  classed  with  him  who  possess 
-them.  Instances  of  this  sort  are  too  often  founcl  in  eve; 
jecord  of  ancient  or  modern  history. 

6.  From  ail  this  it  follows,  that  in  order  to  disce:- 
where  man's  true  honour  lies,  >ve  must  look,  not  to  ar 
adventitious  circumstance  of  fortune  ;  not  to  any  sing 
jBparkhn^  quality  ;  but  to  the  whole  of  what  forms  a  mai 
^phat  entitles  him,  as  such,  to  raok  high  among  that  claaa^ 


Chap^  9. 


i^j^^msCVOVS   PlBCv5- 


189 


beings  to  which  he  belongs  ;  in  a  word,  we  must  look  to 
the  mind  and  the  soul. 

7.  A  mind  superior  to  fear,  to  selfish  interest  and  cor- 
ruption ;  a  mina  governed  by  the  principles  of  uniform 
rectitude  and  integrity  ;  the  same  in  prosperity  and  ad- 
versity;  which  no  bribe  can  seduce,  nor  terror  overawe  ;i 
neither  by  pleasure  melted  into  efi'eminacy,  nor  by  dis- 
tress sunk  mto  dejection  :  such  is  the  mind  which  forms 
the  distinction  and'  eminence  of  man. 

8,  One,  who  in  no  situation  of  life,  is  either  ashamed 
or  afraid  of  discharging  his  duty,  and  acting  ins  proper 
part  with  firmness  and  constancy  ;  true  to  the  God  whom 
he  worships,  and  true  to  the  faith  in  which  he  professes 
to  believe ;  full  of  afiection  to  his  brethren  of  mankind ; 
faithful  to  his  friends,  generous  to  his  enemies,  warm  with 
compassion  to  the  unfortunate ;  self-denying  to  little 
private  interests  and  pleasures,  but  zealous  for  public  in- 
terest and  happiness;  magnanimous,  without  being  proud ; 
bumble,  witnout  being  mean  ;  just,  v^ilhout  being  harsh  ; 
simple  in  his  manners,  but  manly  in  his  feelings ;  on  whose 
words  we  can  entirely  rely;  whose  countenance  never 
deceives  us ;  whose  professions  of  kindness  are  the  effu- 
sions of  his  heart :  one,  in  fine,  whom,  independent  of 
any  views  of  advantage,  we  would  clioose  for  a  superior, 
could  trust  in  as  a  friend,  and  could  love  as  a  brotiier — 
this  is  the  man,  whom  in  our  heart,  above  all  others,  we 
do,  we  must  honour.  blaisu 


SECTION  X13I. 


ny,  arrangem  A,  bOdutuitesb,  calnv 
ness,  trniiquiJiity 
k  Chcr-isii,  tttJi^r'-rltih,  tv»  support,  shel- 
ter 
0  Plac-id,  p1As'-6!d,  gentle,  quiet,  miUl 
4  Va-cu-i-ty,    vA-ku'-i-t6,    ciniJiuMJbS. 

space 
«  Sd-i-iudc,  «61'-lA-t6de,  lotiely  life 
J  0|)-pre8-fiivc,6p-j)rSs'-3?v,  cruel,  hea- 
vy 
£  Pwi-«iv€,  pSn'-sIv,  <hoi3«btful,  serioii*  o 
A  Cor-ro  sion,  kAr-rV-zhon,  the  eating 

away  by  degrees* 
i  Dc-jec-tion,  dfi-jek'-shfin,  lowness  of 


spirits 
j  De-vo-tinn,    di-v6*-«hfin,  piety,  t»- 

•pect,  uorsliip 
k  E  qua-ljie,  c'-kwA-bl,  e<]iui]  to  it«elf, 

I  Tur-baWent,  tar'-L4-]^t,  tumultuous, 
violent 

TO  Baiii),  lAm,  tbe  juioe  of  aa  odorife- 
rous shrub 

M  W't>uii.'l,  \vi5nd,  a  hurt  give©  by  vi- 
olenof,  to  iiurt  by  viclcoce 
Ira-pure,  ?m-piro',  unholy,  onchA^tA, 
foul  wiU»  extraneous  im)ttunoe,Hro«- 

«y 


The  yfijlumct  of  (kvoiion  on  tlie  happlnui  of  l^fc, 
1.  Whatever  promotes  and  strengthens  virtue-,  wfaaV 
ever  calms  and  rcgukitds  tiie  tf^mper,  is  a  sourc^i  of  hapt 


3 


199  £5<r£i&H  ^CADca.  Fart  t, 

pinew.  DeroHon  produces  these  effects  in  a  remarkable  ■ 
degree.  It  inspires  composure*  of  spirit,  mildness,  and  I 
benignit5[ :  weakens  the  painful,  and  cherishes*  the  pleas*  • 
Ing  emotions  ;  and,  by  tnese  means,  carries  on  the  life  off 
a  pious  man  in  a  smooth  and  placid-"  tenor. 

2.  Besides  exerting  this  habitual  influence  on  the  mind, 
devotion  opens  a  field  of  enjoyments  to  which  the  vicious 
are  entire  stranp;ers ;  enjoyments  the  more  valuable,  ass 
they  peculiarly  belong  to  retirement,  when  the  world  1 
leaves  us ;  ana  to  adversity,  when  it  becomes  our  foe, 
These  are  the  two  seasons,  for  which  every  wise  mac 
would  most  wish  to  provide  some  hidden  store  of  com*J 
fort. 

3.  For  let  him  be  placed  in  the  most  favourable  situa- 
tion which  the  human  state  admits,  the  world  can  neith- 
er always  amuse  him,  nor  always  shield  him  from  distress. 
There  will  be  many  hours  of  vacuity, rf  and  many  of  de- 
jection in  his  life.  If  he  be  a  stranger  to  God,  and  to  de- 
votion, how  dreary  will  the  gloom  of  solitude'  often 
prove  !  With  what  oppressive/  weight  will  sickness,  dis- 
appointment, or  old  age,  fall  upon  his  spirits. 

4.  But  for  those  pensive^  periods,  tlt-e  pious  man  has  a 
relief  prepared.  From  the  tiresome  repetition  of  the 
common  vanities  of  life,  or  from  the  painful  corrosion*  or 
its  cares  and  sorrows,  devotion  transports  him  into  a  new 
region ;  and  surrounds  him  there  with  such  objects,  aa 
are  the  most  fitted  to  cheer  ttie  dejection,*  to  calm  the 
tumults,  and  to  iieal  the  wounds  of  his  heart,  if  the 
world  has  been  empty  and  delusive,  it  gladdens  him  with 
the  prospect  of  a  higher  and  better  order  oL  things,  about 
to  rise. 

5.  If  men  have  been  ungrateful  and  base,  it  displays 
before  him  the  faithfulness  of  that  Supreme  Being,  who, 
though  every  other  friend  fail,  will  never  forsake  him. 
Let  us  consult  our  experience,  and  we  shall  find,  that  the 
two  greatest  sources  of  inward  joy,  are,  the  exercise  of 
love  directed  towards  a  deserving  obji^et,  and  the  exercise 
of  hope  terminating  on  some  hign  and  assm-ed  happineJ^s. 
Both  these  are  supplied  by  devotion  \i  and  therefore  we 
have  no  reason  to  be  surprised,  if,  on  some  occasions,  it 
fills  the  hearts  of  good  men  with  a  satisfaction  not  to  be 
expressed* 

6.  The  refined  pleasures  of  a  pious  mind,  are,  in  many 
respects,  superior  to  the  coarse  gratifications  of  sense, 
Tbiy  are  pieaffun^e  which  belong  to  t\it  highest  powcw 


€kap-  ^  PEOWiBijtTOUS  Piu-ks.  191 

finxl  b(^t  affectlonii  of  the  soul;  whereas  the  gratification 
of  sense  reside  in  the  lowest  region  of  our  nature.  To 
I  the  latter,  the  soul  stoops  below  its  native  dignity.  The 
former,  raises  it  above  itself.  The  latter,  leave  always  a 
comfortless,  ofr.en  a  mortifying,  remembrance  behiod 
them.  The  former,  are  renewed  with  applause  and  de- 
light. 

7.  The  pleasures  of  sense  resemble  a  foammg  torrent 
which,  after  a  disorderly  course,  speedily  runs  out,  and 
leaves  an  empty  and  offensive  channel.  But  the  pleas- 
ures of  devotion  resemhk-  the  equable^'  current  of  a  pure 
river,  which  enlivens  the  fields  through  which  it  passes, 
and  diffuses  verdure  and  fertility  along  its  banks. 

8.  To  thee,  C)  Devotion  !  we  owe  the  highest  improve* 
ment  of  our  nature,  and  much  of  the  enjoyment  of  our 
life.  Thou  art  the  support  of  our  virtue,  and  the  rest  of 
our  souls,  in  this  turbulent^  world.  Thou  composest  the 
thon-ghts.  Thou  calmest  the  passions.  Thou  exahest 
the  heart.  Thy  communications,  and  thine  only,  are  im- 
parted to  the  low,  no  less  than  to  the  high  ;  to  the  poor  as 
well  as  to  the  rich. 

9.  lii  thy  presence,  worldly  distinctions  cease  ;  and  un» 
der  thy  influence,  worldly  sorrows  are  forgotten.  Thou 
art  the  balm«  of  the  wounded"  mind.  Ti^y  sanctuary  is 
ever  open  to  the  miserable;  inaccessible  only  to  the  un- 
righteous and  impure.*'  Thou  beginnest  on  earth  the 
temper  of  heaven.  In  thee,  the  hosts  of  angels  and  bles- 
sed spirits  eternally  rejoice.  bi^air. 


•  Ter-res-tri-a1,  tSi^r4»'-tre-^l,  earthly, 
not  celestial 

i  L'u-mi-»ou8,  li'-Tni-nfls,  shining  bright 

e  Al-ter-uate-ly,  il-tir'-niie-lA,  in  recip- 
rocal eucccKsion 

d  Or-bit,  dr'-bk,  the  lino  described  by  the 
revolution  of  a  planet 

«  Mys-tick,  mls'-tlk,  emblematical,  ok 
scure,  secret 

/  Dia-pen-sfcr,  <H»-pin'-sSr,  one  who 
dispenses 

fr  Mu-nif-i-cence,  iT)di-nir-ft-8in»e,  lib- 
erality, generosity 

k  ^-gen-cy,  ii'-j<^Q-66,  the  quality  or 
state  of  acting 

i  Ax  le,  &k'-sl,  the  pin  which  riaiies 
through  the  midst  of  a  wheel 

)  "Be-^pteft-dsBli  f^pJda'-tJaiil,  bright, 
thmhig 


SECTION  XIV. 

k  Cir-cura-fe-rence,  s|r-k&na'*ffc-rliWB, 

space,  circle 
/  E6-tx-n)atc,  2ii'-tA-mAte,  to  adjuit  th« 

vtiluc  of 
m  Pro-dig-ious,  pr^-dld'-jfie,  monstroua, 

amazing 
n  £-nor-niou3,  k-n&t'-mht^  ezceedinshf 

laree,  wicked 
o  Ma-c-hine,   m4-sj)^^n',  an    engine,  a 

carriage 
p  Centre,  sSn'-fBr,  the  middle,  middlt 

point 
q  Ir-ra-di-ate,  Ir-r&'-di-4te,   to   Adoni 

with  light 
r  Di-min-u-tive,  d^-m1n'-n6-t!v,  email, 

little 
g  Pat-ri-mon-y,  pit'-tri-mftn-nA,  tm  ea^ 

tate  poesesecd  hj  inheritaaoe 
't  Pit  ?su»M,  p^'  tijig*,  a  wnall  portSov 


T^jptonetOT^r  tmd  Urrestrial'  xum'lis  comparative^  c^nsid* 
troL 

Xn  Td  as,  who  dwell  on  its  surface,  the  earth  h  by  far 
tht  most  extenaive  orb  that  our  eyes  can  any  where  be- 
hoM :  it  is  also  cJotfted  with  verdure,  distinguished  by 
tre€5s,  and  adorned  with  a  variety  of  beautiful  decorations  ; 
wh-ereas,  to  a  spectator  placed  on  one  of  the  planets,  it 
wears  a  uniform  aspect ;  looks  all  luminous  ;*  and  no  lar- 
ger tha«  ?i  spot.  To  beings  who  <iw<jil  at  >tiU  greater 
Sistaitcets  it  entirely  disappears.  That  which  we  call  al- 
terffately*"  the  morning  and  ^v-ening  star.,  (as  m  one  part 
of  tbeorlMt^  she  rides  foremost  in  the  procession  of  night, 
in  th«  other  ushers  in  and  anticipates  tlie  dawn,)  is  a  |)lan- 
•ctary  w«rld, 

£.  This  planet  and  the  four  others  that  so  wonderfully 
vary  th«ir  mystic  dance,  are  in  theraselvts  dark  bodies, 
and  shine  only  fey  iieilection :  have  fields,  and  seisis,  and 
skies,  of  their  own  ;  are  furnisbcd  with  all  accoinraoda- 
tioias  for  aoimal  subsistence,  and  are  supposed  to  be  the 
abode*  of  intellectual  life ;  all  which,  together  with  our 
earthly  habitation,  are  dependent  on  that  grand  dispenser^ 
of  Divine  munificence,?  trie  sun ;  receive  their  light  from 
the  distribution  of  his  rays,  and  derive  their  comiort  from 
his  benign  agency.* 

3.  The  sun,  which  seems  to  perform  its  daily  €tagrs 
through  the  sky,  is  in  this  respect  fixed  and  immovea- 
ble :  it  is  the  great  axle*  of  lieaven,  about  which  the 
j^lobe  we  inhabit,  and  other  more  spacious  orbs,  wheel 
their  stated  courses.  The  sun,  though  seemingly  smaller 
than  the  dial  it  illuminates,  is  abundantly  larger  than  thisl 
w^ole  earth,  on  which  so  aiany  lofty  mountains  rise,  and 
cucb  vast  ocea  n*  roll, 

4*  A  tine  extending  from  side  to  side  through  the  cen- 
tre of  that  resjplendentJ  orb,  would  measure  more  than 
«ig!ht  hundred  thousand  miles:  n  girdle  formed  to  g« 
round  its  circumference.*  would  ret^uire  a  length  of  mill- 
idits.  Wer«  its  solid  contents  to  fte  e^timated,7  the  ac- 
count would  overwhelm  our  understanding,  and  be  almost 
beyond  the  power  of  language  to  express.  Are  we  start* 
ied  at  these  reports  of  phik)sopby  ! 

5.  Are  we  ready  to  cry  out  ia  a  tran-<]3ort  of  sunprise, 
•♦How  mighty  is  the  Being  who  kindled  so  prodigious"*  a 
Sre;  And  keeps aUvQ,  from  age  to  age,  so  enormous"* 
mas3  of  flame !"  let  ua  atteadfour  philosophical  guidea* 


^^rap.  9.  Fromiscuous  Tieces,  tQ$ 

and  w«  shall  be  brought  acquainted  ^vlth  epecuI^llOiM^ 
more  enlarged  and  more  inilaming. 

6.  This  sun  with  all  its  attendant  planets,  is  but  a  very 
little  part  of  the  grand  machine^  of  the  universe  :  every 
star,  though  in  appei^ranco  no  bigger  than  the  diamond 
tliai  glitters  upon  a  lad3^'s  ring,  is  really  a  vast  globe,  like 
tile  sun  in  size  and  in  gi**ry  ;  no  less  spacious,  no  less  lu- 
minous than  the  radiant  source  of  day.  So  that  every 
star,  is  not  barely  a  world,  but  the  centre/*  of  a  magnifi- 
cent system;  has  a  retinut;  nf  worlds  irradiated'/  by  its 
beams,  and  revolving  rianid  ils  attractive  influence,  all  of 
\Thich  are  lost  to  our  sight  in  unmeasurable  wilds  of  eth- 
er. 

7.  That  the  stars  appear  like  so  many  dhtfinutive,  and 
scarcely  distinguishable  points,  is  owing  to  their  immense 
and  inconceivable  distance.  Immense  and  inconceivabln 
indeed  it  is,  since  a  ball,  shot  from  the  loaded  cannon,  and 
ilying  with  unabated  rapidity,  must  travel,  at  this  impetu- 
ous rate,  almost  seven  hundred  thousand  years,  before  it 
could  reach  the  nearest  of  these  twinkling  luminaries. 

8.  While,  beholding  this  vast  expanse,  1  learn  my  own 
extreme  meanness,  1  would  also  discover  the  abject  little- 
ness of  all  terrestrial  things.  What  is  the  eartli,  with  all 
her  ostentJ^tious  scenes,  eomnared  with  this  astonishing 
grand  furniture  of  thtt  skies  i  What,  but  a  dim  speck, 
hardly  perceivable  in  the  map  of  the  univrrse  ? 

9.  it  is  observed  by  a  very  judicious  writer,  that  if  the 
sun  himself,  which  enlightens  this  part  of  the  creation, 
were  extinguished,  and  all  the  host  of  plmetary  worlds, 
which  move  abcnit  them,  were  annihilate  d,  they  would 
not  be  missed  by  an  eye  that  can  take  in  the  whole  com- 
pass of  nature,  any  more  than  a  grain  of  sand  upon  the 
sea-shore.  Tlie  bulk  of  which  they  consist,  and  the 
space  which  they  occupy,  *nv  so  exceediugly  little  in  com- 
parison of  the  whole,  tiiat  their  loss  would  scarcely  leave 
a  blank  in  the  imn^.ensity  of'  God's  works. 

10.  If  then,  not.  f»ur  globe  only,  but  thi^i  whole  system, 
be  so  very  diminutive,  wlmt  is  a  kingdom  or  a  country  ? 
What  are  a  few  lordships,  or  the  so  much  admn'ed  patri- 
monies' of  those  who  are  styled  wealthy?  When  I  meas- 
ure them  with  iry  own  little  pittance,'  they  swell  into 
proud  and  bloated' dimensions :  but  when  1  take  the  uni- 
verse for  my  slandard,  how  scanty  is  their  size.'  how 
contemptible  their  iigiire  !  They  shrmk  into  pompous  no- 

thilT^S.  ADDlSOPf. 

K 


194  Knonmh  IIeabeji.  Part  1., 

SECTION  XV. 


'.        lived  in  the  agfc  of  Homer 

«  Ha  biL-u  at*,    hA-W:£h'-&ite,   to  a 

custotn,  to   use  one's  self  by  f/e-iP 

quonl  ropetitions 
/  Su-y)cr-iiu-mor  ary,   8&-p?r-n^j'-m8r»i» 

ftr-i,  being  above  a  mated,  a  ueoen-ii 

sary,  uuuul,  or  h  rouiul  number. 
V  lD-R'^;n-si  bly,    ii)-s5n'-bi-bi6,    impor-fi 

tX'ptibly 


#tTMer-ly,  6f-Af-U,  fully,  comprct- 
ly,  pBTfoclly 

#  8e-n-efl,  si''th'i>ty  sucoeasioti  course. 

order 

#  Fy-thag-oran,  pUthAg'^A-rAs,    a  enle- 

bratcil  philoa«phor,  born  at  Sasnos  ; 
K«   di*xi   oiiout  4U7    years    bo 
Chrial 
4  He-ni-od,  hS'-ihi  i.i,  a  celebrated  po 
*!,  borik  at  Ascra  in  iioeotia  ;  he 

On  the  power  ef  custom,  and  the  nsts  to  which  it  may  he  ap^ 
"plkd 

t.  There  is  not  a  common  saying,  which  has  a  bctterr 
turn  of  sense  m  it»  than  what  "vve  often  hear  in  the  mouthsi 
•f  the  vulgar,  that  '  Custom  iis  a  second  nature/  It  is  in- 
deed able  to  form  the  man  anew  ;  and  give  liim  inclina- 
tions and  capacities  altogether  diiferent  from  those  he  wasi 
h^rn  with. 

£.  A  person  who  is  addicted  to  pljiy  or  gaminp;,  thought 
he  took  but  little  delight  in  it  at  first,  by  d«3,i;rces  contract*! 
•o  strong  an  inclination  towards  it,  and  gives  himself  upp 
to  •ntireiy  to  it,  that  it  seems  the  only  end  of  his  being^, 
The  love  of  a  retired  or  busy  life  will  grow  upon  a  mang 
Insensibly,  as  he  is  conversant  in  the  on^i  or  the  other,  tilj 
be  i«  utterly*  unqualified  for  relishing  that  to  which  1" 
has  been  for  some  time  disused. 

5.  Nay,  a  man  may  smoke,  or  drink,  or  take  snuff,  til 
he  is  unable  to  pass  away  his  time  without  it ;  hot  to  maw' 
tioit  how  our  delight  in  any  particular  study,  art,  or  sci- 
ence, rises  and  improves,  in  proportion  to  the  application 
which  we  bestow  upon  it.  Thus,  what  was  at  first  an 
exercise,  becomes  at  length  an  entertainment.  Our  em- 
ployments are  changed  into  diversions.  The  mind  gvo"" 
fond  of  those  actions  it  is  accustomed  to ;  and  is  drai 
with  reluctancy  from  those  patlis  in  which  it  has  bei 
used  to  walk. 

4.  If  we  attentively  consider  this  property  of  hum; 
Dature,  it  may  instruct  us  in  very  fine  moi-alities.  In  t 
irst  place,  I  would  have  no  man  discouraged  with  th 
kind  of  life,  or  series*  of  action,  in  which  the  choice  i 
•thers,  or  his  own  necessities,  mav  have  engaged  hinii 
It  may  perhaps  be  very  disagreeable  to  him,  at  hrst ;  but 
use  ami  application  will  certainly  render  it  not  only  kde« 
painful,  but  plea.-!ing  and  satisfactory. 

6.  In  the  second  place,  I  wotJd  recommend  to  t^ery 


^4 


One,  the  admirable  precept,  which  Pythagoras'  Js  said  to 
have  given  to  liis  oiscij^l^^s,  and  \vhi<-h  that  philosopher 
must  have  drawn  from  the  observation  1  have  enln.rp^td 
upon:  **  Pitch  upon  that  course  of  life  nhich  ii*  the  most 
excellent,  and  custom  "vvil    render  it  {hit  most  delightful.' 

6.  Mc'),  wl;o!-e  circuinstanci-s  nijl  pcriiii-  them  to 
choose  their  own  way  ol  life,  are  inexcusable  if  tiiey  do 
not  pursu.*.  tiiat  Avhich  their  judj^men'.  tells  ihcm  h  the 
most  lauv!able.     The  voice  of  reason  is  more  to  be  re- 

farded,  than  the  bent  of  any  present  inclinativ^.n  ;  since, 
y  the  rule  above-mentioned,  incIinatK)n  will  at  length 
come  over  to  reason,  though  we  can  never  force  reason, 
to  comply  with  inclination. 

7.  In  the  *hird  place,  this  observation  may  teach  the 
most  sensual  and  irreligious  man,  to  overlook  those  hard- 
ships and  dilTiculties,  which  are  apt  to  discouragu  him 
from  the  prosecution  of  a  virtuous  lif»^.  *'  The  Gods,** 
said  Hesiod,''  **  have  placed  labour  before  virtue  ;  the  way 
to  her  is  at  first  rough  and  diflicult,  but  ^rows  more 
Rraooth  and  easy  the  fiirtber  we  advance  in  it.'*  The 
man  who  proceeus  in  it  with  stendiucas  and  resolution, 
will,  in  a  little  time,  find  that  **  her  ways  are  ways  of 
pleasantness,  and  that  all  her  }>aths  are  pAace." 

8.  To  enforce  this  consideration,  we  may  lurther  ob- 
serve, that  the  practice  of  religion  will  not  only  be  at- 
tended with  thut  pleasure  which  naturally  accompanies 
those  actions  to  which  we  are  habituated,'  but  w  ith  those 
Bupernumerary/ joys  of  heart,  that  ris«^  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  such  a  pleasure  ;  from  the  satisfaction  of 
acting  up  to  the  dictates  of  reason ;  and  from  the  pros- 
pect of  a  happy  immortality. 

9.  In  the  fourth  place,  we  may  learn  from  this  ob&er- 
Tation  which  we  have  made  on  the  mind  of  man,  to  take 
particular  care,  when  we  are  once  sittled  in  a  regular 
course  of  hfe,  how  we  frequently  indulge  ourselves  in 
even  the  most  innocent  diversions  j:nd  entertainments  ; 
since  the  mind  may  insensibly?  fall  off  from  the  rcli?h  of 
virtuous  actions,  and  by  degrees,  exchange  Ihat  pleas- 
ure which  it  takes  in  the  performance  of  its  duty,  for  de- 
lights of  a  much  inferior  i.nd  an  unprofitable  nature. 

10.  The  last  use  which  I  shall  mike  of  this  remarka- 
ble property  in  human  nature,  of  being  delighted  with 
those  actions  to  which  it  is  acxrufclomed,  is,  to  show  how 
ubsolutelv  necessary  it  is  for  us  to  gain  habits  of  virtue 
in  this  lil£,  if  we  wduld  enjc^  Ibe  Measures  of  the  o£Zi* 


t9f|  K56LISU  Keai>er.  Fart  1. 

The  gt;rt€  of  bliss  we  call  heaven,  will  not  he  capable  of 
affecting  those  minds  which  are  not  thus  qualiliea  for  it : 
we  must,  in  this  world,  j^ain  a  relish  for  truth  and  virtue, 
if  we  would  he  a!)U^  to  taste  that  knowjedj^e  and  perfec- 
tion, which  arci  lo  make  us  h'  opy  in  the  next. 

II.  The  scu?ds  of  those  spiritual  joys  <\n{\  raptures, 
which  are  to  rise  up  and  flourish  in  the.  soul  to  all  eterni- 
ty, must  be  planted  in  it  during  tiiis  its  present  state  of 
jirohation.  in  short,  heaven  is  not  to  ho  looked  upon 
only  as  tiie  reward,  but  as  the  natural  effect  of  a  reli-  ^ 
^ious  life.  ADDisopf. 

SECTION  XYl. 

«  Re-sult,  r^-z?iit',  effect,  resolve  |c  Leg-i-ble,  IW^ji-bl,  such  as  may  bt  ■ 

k  F>ic-«il-ty,  r^k'-6l-i^,  RbiiiLy,  rcuaon,         read 
dexterity  J 

The  pleasures  resulting^  from  o.  proper  use  of  our  faculties ^ 

1.  Happy  that  man,  who,  unembarrassed  by  vulgar 
cares,  master  of  himself,  his  time,  and  fortune,  spends 
his  lime  in  nlaking  himself  wiser,  and  his  fortune,  m 
making  others  (and  therefore  himself)  happier :  who,  as 
the  will  and  understanding  are  the  two  ennobling  facul- 
ties of  the  soul,  thinks  himself  not  complete,  till  his  un- 
derstanding is  beautiful  with  the  valuable  furniture  of 
knowledge,  as  well  as  his  will  enriched  with  every  vir- 
tue; who  has  furnished  himself  with  all  the  advantages 
to  relish  solitude,  and  enliven  conversation;  who,  when 
serious,  is  not  suileu  ;  and  wJien  cheerful,  not  indiscreetly 
|;ay;  whose  ambition  is,  not  to  be  admired  for  a  false 
glare  of  greatness,  l>ut  to  be  beloved  for  the  gentle  and 
sober  lustre  of  his  wisdom  arid  goodness. 

3,'  The  greatest  minister  of  state  has  not  more  business 
to  do,  in  a  public  capacity,  than  he,  and  indeed  every 
other  i4iian,may  find  m  the  retired  and  still  scenes  of  life. 
Even  in  his  private  walks,  everything  th<it  is  visible  con- 
vinces him  tliere  is  present  a  Being  invisible.  Aided  by 
natural  piiilosophy,  he  reads  plain  legible^  traces  of  the 
Divinity  in  every  thing  he  meets :  he  sees  the  Deity  in 
every  tree,  as  well  as  Moses  did  in  the  burning  bush. 
tJiough  not  in  so  glaring  a  manner :  and  when  he  see.^  i 
bim,  ne  adores  him  with  the  tribute  of  a  grateful  heart. 

BEEit, 


ij$^,  ft,  riLOziiecwous  l*l»ci». 


SECTION  XVII. 

/  Cen-so-ri-ou 
la  ceniiur* 
g  Coi5--<lrui:-tinn,k6fj-8trftk'-8liRii,  bu'tli^ 


h  ri,\-ieo-u-aic,  ikij-tdn'-6-Ito,  tu  l«Mea, 

pnlliute 
«  Dia-a-vow,  d!*-ft-v6u',  to  disown,  dow? 
j  I'urn-mijier-ate,  k6ni-miz'-ir-iil«,  l« 

j)it/,  l<»  synipathi/e  wi  ii 


«  BlRn-<Hiih-ra»nt,  bHln'-i3!»h-nn^nt,  act  /  Cen-so-ri-ou8,  iSa-i^'-r^-Ca, 

of  ton(ineM,  kind  »pccchf«  la  ceniiur* 

h  Cre-du-li-ly,  kri-d6'-U-t*,  ©ajiinass  of 

•  Cotii-inen  da  ble,        kom'-m^n-ilA-bl 

laudatdo,  worthy  of  prjuse? 
i  D«  'Rm-ft-lor-y,  v.i  fAin'-^-tfir-i,   ca- 

luiPoi'Mi'",  slai-derou* 
«  Su;,'jr«.s-ti..n.    sn);  jii'-uhfin,  privau 

hint,  iatimatitiu 

Descripthn  of  Candour. 

1.  Trde  candour  is  aUo^ttherdifTerent  from  that  gnard- 
eil,  inoflensivr  language,  and  that  studied  openness  of  be- 
haviour, wUich  wti  so  frequ<intly  niet-t  with  amorj^  men  of 
tlie  world.  Smiling,  very  i^rttn,  is  the  aspect,  and  sniootli 
are  rhe  words,  of  tliose  who  inuardiy  are  the  m^st  ready 
to  tliink  evil  of  others.  Th:»t  candour  which  is  a  Chris- 
tian virtue,  consists,  not  in  fyirness  of  speech,  but  in  fair- 
ness of  heart. 

2.  It  may  want  the  hlandishm<*nts«  of  i\\ternal  cour- 
tesy, ?)ut  suppHes  il.'i  place  ^^ith  .a  humane  and  jreneroun 
lihe'rahty  of  s^'utiment.  Its  maniiera  are  unaflVctcd,  and 
its  professions  cordial.  iCxempt,  on  one  h-md,  from  the 
dark  jealousy  of  ;i  sus}»lcious  mind,  it  is  tto  less  remov- 
ed, on  the  other,  from  that  easy  credulity*  wliich  is  im- 
posed on  by  every  specious  })retence.  It  is  [»evfectly 
consistent  witli  exten^jv*'  k!vo\Nlede:e  of  the  world,  and 
with  due  attention  to  our  own  saiViy. 

3.  In  tliat  vari(»us  intercourse,  wliich  we  are  obliged 
to  c.'.rry  on  with  persons  of  every  dilferent  character, 
suspicion,  to  a  ctitain  de^rree,  is  a  necessary  ^uard.  It 
is  only  when  it  exceeds  the  bmnuk  of  prudent  caution, 
that  it  degenerates  into  vice.  ^  There  is  a  pro})er  mean 
between  tindistin^^nished  en  dulity,  and  universal  jeal- 
ousy, which  a  sound  underslanum}c  ciiscerns,  and  which 
the  man  of  candour  t^tudins  to  preserve.      .    . 

4.  He  m-r'krs  idlow  anco  for  the  inixiufr  of  evil  with 

food,  >''hich  is  to  he  found  in  ever}^  hiinum  character. — 
ie  expects  nr^ne  to  be  faultless  ;  uiA  he  is  unwiliin<;j  to 
believe  that  there  is  r.ny  without  6<une  comj.u'ndable* 
qualities,  in  \\\t  midst  of  many  defects,  he  can  discov- 
er a  virtue.  Under  the  inOuen*  e  of  personal  ies%»ntmenl, 
he  can  be  just  to  the  merit  of  an  enemy. 

5.  He  never  lends  an  open  ear  to  those  defamatory^  rm^ 
pcaKB  uid  dRTk  9\igg<?€rtions,'  which,  Ainon£  th«  trrfea  fJlP 


fjie  censorious/  circulate  with  so  much  rapidit3r,  and  niewt . 
with  so  ready  aci-.eptanct^.  ll^t  is  not  hasty  to  ju(J;i:e  ;  and 
he  requires  full  evidence  bfjfore  he  %vi!l  coiidpjiin.  A6 
tons  Hi  an  action  c:in  he  ascribod  to  different  m')tives,  he 
hoius  it  «3  no  jnark  of  sagacity  to  impute  it  HJwaya  to 
the  worst.  * 

G.  'Vh*  re  there  is  just  groimd  for  doubt,  h*;  ke^pa  his 
iudjrment  undt'cided  ;  and,  during  the  p'jriud of  sui^pense, 
Jean^  to  the  jnorit  chiifitahle  c*>nstructit):u  -vvhicli  fxn  ac- 
tion can  hear.  Wh-n  he  must  condemn,  he  condemus 
with  regret ;  and  witliout  thoi>e  aj^j^riivatiuns  which  tiie 
■ererity  of  others  adds  to  the  crime,  lie  listens  calmly 
to  the  apoloj^y  of  the  oliender,  and  readily  adn>lts  every 
extenuating''  circumstance,  which  equity  can  sugj;e?t. 

7.  How  much  soever  he  may  hhime  the  principles  of 
any  sect  or  j)arty,  he  never  conTounds,  under  one  jz;i-neral 
censure,  all  whiihelonii;  to  that  party  or  sect.  He  charg- 
es them  not  v/iih  such  conse(iuence3  of  their  tenets,  as 
they  refuse  and  disavow.*  From  one  wrcmji;  ojiinion,  he 
<loes  not  infer  the  subversion  of  all  sound  princ?ple3  ;  nor 
from  one  had  action,  conclude  that  all  regard  to  con- 
science is  overthrown. 

8.  When  he  ''  hehcdds  the  mote  in  his  brother's  eye," 
ho  remembers  "  the  beam  in  his  own."  He  commiser- 
ates-' human  frailty  ;  and  jtid^e.-j  of  others  according  to 
the  principles,  by  which  he  would  thirik  it  reasonable 
that  they  should  judp;e  of  him.  In  a  word,  he  views  men 
and  actions  in  the  clear  sunshine  of  charity  and  ^ood  na- 
ture ;  and  not  in  that  dark  and  sullen  shade  which  jeal- 
ousy and  party-spirit  throw  over  all  characters. 

BLAIE, 

SJiLCTION  XVlIi. 

«  Em-beMUh,  fm-til'-llsh,    to  ujornj*  Uaf  flo,  hkf-Q,  to  ehidc,  coRfonnd 


beautify 
h  ProB-o-c»»  tioD,  pri«-«i-'k6'-flh£n,  pjir- 

BUit,  suit  w)  law 
«  Dex-usr-i-iy,   <JiJis-iir'-i-ti,   nclivity, 

•kill 
4  ^trat-H  gem,  »ti4t'-tA-j«ni,  an  orufice. 
P  &  trick 

#  Tii-rte*  «ant,  Tn-pJs'-aJVnt,  continnnl 
/  Vijf-il  ant,  vTti  -jU-aia,  watch fu',  nt 

t^ntiye  I 

g  Me-U'-ur,  ai4'-t^5r,  a  transitory  bod/ 

in  tbe  air,  h  vH;>«tuF 


tP'tiPWHJ'^^ 


;■  lian-^uish,  !An,?  j»w!>ih,  to  pine  away 
k  P!en-i-iude,  ;;l2n'-ni-»6de,  fiilneai 
I  Stt  ti-o-ty,  sA'tl'-fS-tr,  lulnoM  beyond 

(fcisi-H  or  p'.ftnBiire 
m  Cor-rode,  k6r-rA(le',  to  euior  w«a» 

n.vfiy  ;n''Hlually 
/I  Gnnw,  liAw,  to  bite  and  eat  by  d** 

{.'re.-»8 
o  Ftjs-tor,  fifi'-tfir,  to  nur««,  «up[»ort 
p  Ed-i  fico,  fici'-i'-fis,  «  labfick,  abuiUI 

q  In-Ru-spic-ious,  In-iw-spMi'-li,  «a» 
fertuuf  1«,   ■' 


i^hitfL    9.  lfftOMI!iCV</Vi    t*IH«««.  MM 

r  TT«cHd-tn-rY,  trAu'-«i*lSr-i,  cooliitulc  LaiM«,  rAp«e,fr>  (<tttbf  4tagi<raB,  i«^ 
inj;  a  lihorttimo  hj  Inndvorjency 

I  •  Dt»-(  rm»;,  di-klinB^,  to  dcviaVp,  to  run  a  But  ti«u,  s&f-f  Iza ,  to  b«  sviBaADOel 
I  ifito  oh'iquitiea,  to  ahun,  to  ecfuso  1 

•  On  the  imperfection  of  that  happiness  trhich  rests  9oldy  011 
worldly  pleasures, 

1.  TnE  vnnit)^  of  human  ploa^urcs,  is  a  topic  which 
mi(i:ht  be  einhf^llisned"  with  ihf!  pomp  of  mucii  il^-scrip-  - 
tion.  ,^^\\i  I  sh;<ll  stiHiitiuifiy  avoid  fxjtjrgreniiion,  and  oi»» 
ly  poit.t  oul  a  thrcfjfold  vanity  in  hiuiian  lilc,  \Nliich  «▼• 
cry  impartiMl  oh?r.rver  cannot  but  admit;  disappoint* 
mrnt  in  pursuit,  dissatisfaction  in  enjoyment,  uncertain- 
ty in  jK)Psession. 

2.  Firtrt,  disappointment  in  pursuit.  When  we  looli 
around  us  on  the  world,  we  every  wliere  behtdd  a  bu«j 
multitude,  intent  on  the  prosecunon''  of  various  df*ign§, 
whicf)  their  wants  or  desires  Kav»»  suggested.  We  b*» 
hold  them  employing  every  metiiod  which  ingenuity  can 
devise;  some  the  patience  of  industry,  some  thtt  bold- 
ness of  enternriije,  others  the  dextenty*^  of  «trata^«IS^^ 
in  order  to  compass  their  ends. 

^.  Of  this  incessant*  stir  anii  activity,  what  is  th«  fVuit  I 
In  com})arison  of  the  crowd  who  have  toiled  in  vain,  how 
small  is  the  number  of  the  successful  ?  Or  rather  wher* 
is  the  man  who  will  declare,  that  in  every  point  h«  bat 
comj)leted  his  plan,  and  attained  his  utmost  wish  ? 

4.  No  extent  of  human  abilities  has  been  able  to  dl»» 
cover  a  path  which,  in  any  line  of  lif^s  leads  unerringly 
to  success.  The  race  is  nivt  always  to  the  swift,  Dor  tn« 
battle  to  the  strong,  nor  riches  to  men  of  understandinjg.* 
We  may  form  our  plans  with  the  most  profound  sagacity^ 
Mud  with  the  most  vigil.inU/"  caution  may  guard  againil 
dHng;ers  on  every  side.  lUit  some  unforeseen  occurrenss 
coines  across,  w  hich  bafiles  our  wisdom,  and  lays  our  !*• 
bour  in  the  dust. 

5.  Were  such  disappointments  confined  to  those  wh« 
asj>ire  at  engrossing  tne  higher  departments  of  life,  th« 
misfortune  would  he  less.  The  humiliation  of  the  rnigh* 
ty,  and  the  fall  (jf  ambition  from  its  towering  height,  lit- 
tle concern  the  bulk  of  mankind.  These  are  objects  on 
which,  as  on  distant  meteors,^  they  ^'aze  fromaTar,  with- 
out drawing  personal,  instruction  from  event*  so  much 
Above  them. 

6.  Kut  alas!  when  we  descend  into  the  resion» of  pr^. 
«ate  Ui««  w«  find  diaa&oointtDi'nt  aod  bi«st«4  sp^w  '«!««<:? 


%4»  lilNGLisa  RfiADKR.  Jpart  i^, 

*iy  prevalent  there.     Neither  the  moderation  of  onrYiews^ 

nor  the  justice  of  our  pretentions,  can  ensure  success. 
But  **  time  and  chance  happen  to  ail."  Against  the 
stream  of  events,  both  the  worthy  and  the  undeserving 
are  obliged  to  struggle ;  and  both  are  freqaently  over* 
Dorne  alike  by  t!ie  current. 

7.  Besides  disappointment  ir^  pursuit,  dissatisfa-ction  in 
enjoyment  is  a  farther  vanity,  to  which  the  human  state  is 
subject.  This  is  the  severent  of  all  ^ mortifications  f  after 
having  been  sufcessfui''  in  the  pursuit,  to  be  baffled'  in  the 
enjoyment  itself.  Yet  this  is  foimd  to  be.  an  evil  still 
more  general  than  the  former,  hjome  may  be  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  attain  what  they  ha^'e  pui-sued  ;  but  none  are 
rendered  completely  haj^py  by  wiiat  they  have  attained. 

8.  Disappointed  homiis  misery  :  and  yet  successful  hope  j 
is  only  imperfect  bliss.     Look  throu;^h  all  the  ranks  of  ] 
mankind.     Exaii;ine  the  condition  ot  thoai^.  who  appear 
most  prosperous  :  and  you  wiii  firul  that  they  are  never  ' 
just  what  they  desire  to  be.     If  retired,   tiiey  languishi 
Tor   action ;  if   busy,    they   complain    of   fatigue.     If  ia 
middle  hfe^  they  are  im})atient  for  distinction  ;  if  in  b:gh 
•lations^  they  sigh  aft^r  freedom  and  <uise. 

9.  Sometliing  is  still  wanting  to  that  plenitude^  of  sat- 
isfaction, which  they  expected  to  acquire.  Together 
with  every  wish  that  is  gratifi'ed,  a  new  cLtMioand  arises. 
One  void  opens  in  the  heiul,  as  another  is  iilled.  On 
wishes,  wishes  grov/;  and  to  the  end,  it  is  rather  the  exr 
pectation  of  what  tliey  hav(<  not,  tiuio  the  enjojniient  of 
what  they  have,  whicli  occupies  and  interests  the  most 
euccessfuL 

7.  This  dissatisfaction  in  the  midst  of  human  pleas- 
ure, springs  partly  from  the  nature  of  oar  enjoymenta 
themselves,  and  partly  f.om  circimi-svancfs  which  cor- 
rupt them.  No  worldly  erijoyments  ar<'  i«deqnaCc  to  the 
hi^h  desires  and  povvers'oi'  an  imiDortdl  spirit.  Fancy 
pamts  tliem  at  a  disttnc^j  w^ith  spjcn^jii  eoiours  ;  hui  pos- 
session unveils  the  fall.icy. 

11.  The  eagerness  of  j)assi6n  Nestor:*  up'^'^  them,  ^i 
first,  a  brisk  and  lively  relish.'  Bat  it  is  tb.  ir  i'.\Ui  ai'>va^9 
to  pall  by  familiarity,  and  soiijiiri^nea  to  pass  from  satie- 
ty' into  disgust.  l:Sapj)y  would  f tie  poor  man  think 
Ittmsclf,  if  he  could  enter  on  aU  fbe  riisi^&ures  of  the 
ipich  ;  and  happy  for  a  short  tiii)e  Le  might  b«  :  but  be- 
foee  h«  hiul  long  coKt«M(>i4)l«tt:d  auO  admirtWj  his  i-tate.  bis 


oflsesslonB   would  seem  to  lesseix,  and  his  gat**  wtmld 

row. 
12.  Add  to  the  unsatisfyintj;  nature  of  our  pleasures^ 
the  atttnding  circurnstancts  which  never  fail  to  corrupt 
them.  Fpr,  sucli  as  they  are,  tlicy  arc  at  no  time  pos- 
si  ss;.d  uurnixpfl.  To  human  lips  it  is  not  pjiven  to  taste 
the  cup  of  pure  joy.  vV  htn external  circunistances  show 
fairest  to  the  worM,  the  envied  man  groans  in  private  un- 
der his  oivn  burden. 

\^.  Some  vexation  disquiets,  some  passion  corrodes'* 
him  ;  some  distress,  eith<  r  felt  or  llared,  gnaws»  like  a 
worn,  tilt*  root  of  his  felicity.  When  there  is  nothing 
from  withfMit  to  disturh  \\\v.  prosperous,  a  secret  poison 
operaT<  rt  within.  For  worldly  happin»*ss  ever  tends  to 
destroy  itstlf,  by  corruptinjf;  the  heart.  It  fosters-'  i\\Q> 
loose  and  the  violetjt  passions.  It  engenders  noxious 
.habits;  and  taints  the  n/uid  with  false- delicacy,  which 
makes  it  feel  a  thousand  unreal  evils. 

14.  Kut  put  the  case  in  the  most  favourable  light.  Lay 
ftside  from  lumian  pleasures  both  disappointment  ii>  pur 
Buit,  and  deceitfulness  in  enjoyment;  suj)pose  them  tob« 
fully  attainable,  and  completely  satisfactory  ;  still  there 
remains  to  be  considered  the  vanity  of  uncertain  posses- 
sion and  short  duration.  Were  t^.ere  in  worldly  thing» 
vany  fixed  point  of  security  which  we  could  gain,  the  mind 
would  then  have  some  basis  on  which  to  rest. 

15.  l>ut  our  condition  is  such,  tliat  every  thing  waverf 
und  totters  around  us.  *'J>oast  not  thyself  of  to-mor- 
row ;  for  thou  knowcst  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth." 
it  is  much  if,  during  its  course,  thou  hearestnot  of  some- 
wiiat  to  disQuif  t  or  alarm  thee.  For  life  never  proceed* 
long  in  a  uniform  train.  It  is  continually  varied  by  un- 
.^xpected  events. 

10.  The  seeds  of  alteration  are  every  where  sown; 
,«nd  the  sunshine  of  prosperity  commonly  acceleratcii 
their  growth,  if  our  enjoyments  are  numerous,  we  lift 
^more  open  on  different  sides  to  be  W(>unded.  If  we 
have  possessed  them  long,  we  have  greater  cause  to  dread 
an  aj)proa('hir)g  change.  J3y  slow  degrees  prosperity 
rises;  but  ra}>id  is  the  progress  of  evil.  It  requires  no 
preparation  to  bring  it  forward. 

17.  The  edifice^'  which  it  costs  much  time  and  labour 
t>  erect,  one  im:uspi<iious*  event,  one  sudden  blow,  can 
level  with  the  dust.  PiVen  supposing  the  accidents  qf 
life  to  leave  us  untouched,  human  bliss  must  still  be  trail- 


VA 


W^^iLium  fizjomm^ 


J^tri  %. 


^Jtoryr  ft^r  n^<*tt  fhangps  of  hlmg^^lf.  No  CH^ursa  of  en- 
ioyment  can  ddij;ht  uh  Innj;.  What  anHi3cd  our  youth, 
l(»5e3  its  charm  in  maturer  R^ft.  As  years  advance,  our 
powers  are  himited,  and  our  plf^;ii<'.ii'aljle  ftvWi)^'*  decline,* 

18.  The  silent  lapse'  of  time  is  ever  earning  Hcjme- 
what  from  u^^,  till  at  lenj:[;t]i  tlie  p*-viod  ceme.g,  wtjen  all 
must  be  swept  awa)-.  The  jirospet  t  of  tir.s  termination 
of  our  Jabours  and  puri<uit5,  is  sufficient  to  mark  our 
rtate  with  vanity.  '*  Our  days  are  a  hand's  breadth,  an(} 
our  age  is  as  nolhinj!;."  Within  that  li  t»e  space  is  all 
our  enterprise  l)j>ii nded.  We  crowd  it  with  toils  and 
cares,  with  conlenttiui  and  strife.  We  project  ,^reat  dc- 
si{:;ns,  <M.tertain  h\i:j-i  hopes,  and  then  leave'our  plans  un-^ 
fiiiished,  and  sink  into  oblivion. 

19.  This  nriueh  let  it  suflice"  to  have  said  concerning 
the  vanity  of  tiie  world.  That  too  much  has  not  heer> 
xaid.  nuist  ap})ear  to  every  one  who  considers  how  gen- 
erally mankind  lean  to  the  opposite  sid?i ;  and  how  often 
bv  undue  attachment  to  the  present  state,  they  both  feed 
the  most  sinful  passions,  and  "  pierce  themselves  through 
with  many  sorrows."  blair. 

SKCTiON  XIX. 


d  Ror-nn-«;iIe,  ri^k'-fin-alle,  to  cumpoa* 

(liH'eiencert 
c  Vrc.t'-i'p.T,  praK'  ftV,  to  propose,  offer 
/  Baim-ti-fui,  WAn'-t*-fil,  liberal,  jcw- 

erous 


■  Con-r.«»!c-(»!nn,  k«^n-»e?*'-ii}iiin,   tlte  net 

(ff  yi..Iilii.g,Hgraiit 
i    Rep-ro-itKn-ta-luni,    rftp-pr'^-zJii-t^'- 

«  Ri»c-ol-lec-tic)ii,    rMv-k6i  l^k'-shftn,   a 
revival  in  the  roemory 

fVhat  are  the  real  and  solid  cnjoipnmts  of  human  life, 

1.  It  must  be  admittt^d,  that  unmixed  and  complete 
happiness  is  unknown  on  earth.  No  re{:;ulation  of  con- 
duct can  altof^ether  ])revent  j)assions  from  disturbing  our 
peace,  and  misfortunes  from  wounding  our  heart. 

2.  JJut  after  this  concession  is  made,  wilUt  follow,  that 
there  is  no  object  on  earth  which  deserves  our  pursuit,  or 
that  all  enjoyment  becomes  contemptible  which  is  not 
perfect?  Let  us  survey  our  state  with  an  impartial  eye^ 
and  be  just  to  the  various  gifts  of  Heaven.  How  vain 
soever  tiiis  life,  considered  in  itself,  may  he,  the  comfort* 
and  hopes  of  religion  are  sutlicient  to  give  solidity  to 
the  enjoyments  of  the  righteous. 

8.  fn  the  exercise  of  ^ood  affections,  ;\nd  the  testimony 
•f  an  approving  conscience ;  in  the  sense  of  peace  and 
ftconcihation  with  God,  through  the  great  Rf;t5«»«roer  ol 


mankind;  in  tho  firm  confideuoe  of  b«j{iff  ,  _  ,^ 
iyirough  all  the  trials  ©f  life,  by  infinite  Vvisdom  j 
Goodness  ;  and  in  the  joyful  prospect  of  anivinj^,  in  th# 
end,  at  immortal  felicity  ;  they  post-ess  a  hnfpjiinesslvhieh* 
descending  from  a  purer  arrd  more  perfect  region  thafe 
this  world,  partakes  not  of  its  vanity. 

4.  J^esides  the  enjoyments  peculiar  to  religion,  thef* 
are  other  pleasures  of  our  present  state,  tA'hic.h»  though  of 
an  inferior  order,  must  not  he  overlooked  in  the  estimntt 
of  human  life.  It  is  necessary  to  call  attention  to  thcs^, 
in  order  to  check  that  repining  and  unthankful  spirit  14 
"which  m?sn  is  always  too  prone. 

6.  Some  degree  of  importance  must  he  allowed  to  tb« 
comforts  of  health,  to  the  innocent  gratifications  of  senses 
and  to  the  entertainment  ailorded  us  by  all  the  beautiful 
Bcenes  of  nature ;  some  to  the  pursuits  and  harmlcM 
amusements  of  social  life  ;  and  more  to  the  internal  enjoy- 
ments  of  thought  and  reflection,  and  to  the  pleasurti  a# 
affectionate  intercourse  with  those  whom  we  love. 

6.  These  comforts  are  often  held  in  too  low  eatimatioi^ 
merely  because  they  are  ordinary  and  common  :  altbou^ 
that  is  the  circumstance  which  ou^ht,  in  reason,  to  «!• 
hance  their  value.  They  lie  open,  ni  some  degree,  to  all ; 
extend  through  every  rank  of  life  ;  and  fill  up  agreeably 
many  of  those  spaces  in  our  present  existence,  w-nii'har« 
not  occupied  with  higher  objects,  or  with  seriouB  cares. 

7.  From  this  representation*  it  appears  that,  notwitb- 
standing  the  vanity  of  the  world,  a  considerable  degree 
of  comfort  is  attainable  in  the  present  state.  Let  the  rt» 
collection*^  of  this  serve  to  reconcile*^  us  to  our  conditioD;^ 
and  to  repress  the  arrogance  of  complaints  and  murnjur*^ 
What  art  thou,  O  son  of  man  !  who,  having  sprung  but 
yesterday  out  of  the  dust,  darest  to  lift  up  thy  roic*  »• 
gainst  thy  Maker,  and  to  arraign  his  providence,  becauM 
all  things  are  not  ordered  according  to  thy  wish  ? 

0.  What  title  hast  thou  to  find  f:.ult  with  the  order  of 
the  universe,  whose  lot  is  so  much  beyond  what  th_y  vii* 
tue  or  merit  gave  thee  ground  to  cinim  I  Is  it  nothing  l» 
thee  to  have  been  introduced  into  this  magnificent  worldj 
to  have  been  admitted  as  a  spectator  of  the  Divine  wii^ 
dom  and  works;  and  to  have  had  access  to  all  tha  ccib^ 
forts  which  nature,  with  a  bountiful  hand,  ha»  pounrtl 
forth  around  thee  ?  Are  all  the  houra  forgotten  wUsI^ 
thou  hast  passed  in  ear«,  in  complacency,  %r  j^  I 

^  is  it  a  fmol'  fare  l^^n  thy  aywt^  t^ 


i(^«  ExafiisK  Ekader.  Part  I 

firte  Mercy  has  been  stretched  forth  to  aid  tliee  ;  and  *. 

thou  reject  not  its  proffered  assistance,  is  ready  to  con- 
duct thee  to  a  happier  state  of  existence  ?  When  thov 
comparest  th)'  conaition  with  thy  desert,  blush,  and  bu 
ashamed  of  thy  complaints.  Be  silent,  be  grateful  and 
adore.  Receive  with  thankfulness  the  blessings  which 
are  allowed  thee.  Revere  that  government  whicn  at  pres* 
ent  refuses  thee  more.  Rest  in  this  conclusion,  tliat 
though  there  are  evils  in  the  wo^rld,  its  Creator  is  wiae 
and  gooa,  and  has  been  bountiful/"  to  thee.  blair. 

SECTION  XX. 

tt  Mass, mis,  a  body,  the  cervice  of  thc'|/i:  Sev-er,  s2v'-v3r,  to  force  asunder 
Roman  church  \l  In-slinct,  In'-ntlnkt,  ths  power  whic^i 

d-etcrrnini's  the  will  of  brutes  \ 

m  Ex-u-be-rant,  §gz-6'-b^-rAiit,   orernr   j 

hundant,  supcrflnoHsly  plenteous 
n  Spec  i  fy,  spes'-s^-fl,  to  nterition,  to 
show  by  some, particular  mftrk 

0  Di- vers,  dl'-v^rz,6evcral,  sundry,  ma*   i 
">' 

/t  Tran-fiit-ion,  trAn-s!zh'-Sn,  pasgagO) 

chnnge 
b  In  ior-riie-d>-ate,!Q-tSr-mA'tW-ite,  ii>* 
tervoiiing 
De-du-ci-b.e,  di-d/j'-eS-bl,  coliectibrti 

by  rcr-oou 
Pari  ty,  p^-ri-i-^,  equality,  reseo*- 
biance 
t  DeK-v«-ca  bl»5,  dJK'-pi-ItA-bl,  opDt«mj>* 

1  tiblo,  laeun,  viie 

Scale  of  Beings. 

1.  Though  the^c  is  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  cpntem* 
platinf^  the  material  world  :  by  which  1  mean,  that  sys- 
lem  of  bodies,  into  which  nature  has  so  curiously  wrought 
the  mass"  of  dead  matter,  with  the  several  relations  that 
those  bodies  bear  to  one  another  ;  there  is  still,  methinks, 
something  more  wonderful  and  surprising,  in  contempla- 
tions* on  tjie  world  of  life ;  by  which  1  intend,  all  those 
animals  with  which  every  part  of  ihe  universe  is  furnish- 
ed. The  material  worbfis  only  the  shell  of  the  universe : 
the  world  of  hfe  are  its  inhabitants. 

2,  If  we  consider  those  parts  of  ths  material  world, 
which  lie  nearest  to  us,  and  are  therefore  subje'^l  to  o!ir 
observation,  and  inquiries,  it  is  amazing  to  consider  the 
Infinity  of  animals  with  which  they  are  stocked.  Every 
part  oY  matter  is  peopled ;  every  green  leaf  swarms  .>vitn 
Anbabitan4:9.     There  is  scarcely  a  single  hymour  id  fh^ 


b  Con-tem-pla-tion,  k6n-t5m-p]A'-Eh5n 

nifiditation,  study 
c  Myr-i-ad,  mk'-r6  Ad,  ten  tlirtusand 
d  Cell,  sfil,  a  small  cavity,  tho  cave  of  ff 

rniigiou^  I>erson 
c  Cav-i-ty,  k4v'-^-td,  hollo wness,  a  ho! 

low 
/  Teem,  ti^tn,  to  bring  forth  vouog,  tc 

be  full 
g  A'nal-o-gy,A-nir-16-ji,  a  resemblance 

between  things 
•A  Com-rou-ni-ca-tive,   k6m-mfi'-n6-k\- 

l!v,  apt  to  communicate 
^Spoc-u-la-lion,  sp^.k-6-l4'-shfin,  ameu- 

tal  view,  a  schenin 
jf  Cone,  k6nej  a  eoiid  body  like  a  su 

gar  loaf 


horfy  of  a  man,   or  of  any  other  animal,   m  wfrlcb  otr 
glasses  do  not  discover  myriads^"  of  living  creatures, 

S.  We  find,  even  in  the  most  solid  bodies,  as  in  marble 
itself,  innumerable  cells''  and  cavities,*  which  are  crowded 
with  imperceptible  inhabitants,  too  little  for  tlie  nake(J 
eye  to  discover.  On  the  other  hand,  if  we  look  into  the 
more  bulky  parts  of  nature,  we  see  the  seas,  lakes,  and 
rivers,  teeming/  Avith  numberless  kindsoflivirjgcreaturea. 
We  find  every  mountain  and  marsh,  wi'derness  and  wood, 
plentifully  stocked  with  birds  i^nd  beasts;  and  every  part 
of  matter  affording  proper  necessaries  and  conveniences, 
for  tlic  livelihood  hf  the  multitudes  which  inhabit  it. 

4.  The  author  of  ♦*  the  Plurality  of  Worlds,"  draws  a 
very  good  arg;ument  from  this  consideration,  fur  the  poo- 

f>fing  of  every  planet;  as  indeed  it  seems  very  probuble, 
rom  the  analogy^  of  reason,  that  if  no  part' of  matter, 
with  which  we  are  acquainted,  lies  waste  and  useless, 
those  great  bodies,  which  are  at  such  a  distance  from  us, 
are  not  desert  and  unpeopled ;  but  rather,  that  they  are 
furnished  With  beings  adapted  to  their  respective  situa- 
tions. 

5.  Existence  is  a  blessing  to  tjhose  beings  only  which 
arc  endowed  with  perception  :  and  is  in  a  manner  thrown 
away  upon  dead  matter,  any  farther  than  as  it  is  subserv- 
ient to  beings  which  arc  c(mscious  of  their  existence,t-T 
Accordingly  we  find,  from  the  bodies  which  lie  under  our 
.observation,  that  matter  is  only  made  as  the  basis  and 
support  of  animals  :  and  that  there  is  no  more  of  the 
one  than  what  is  necessary  for  the  existence  of  the  other. 

6.  Infinite  goodness  is  of  so  communicative*  a  nature, 
that  it  seems  to  delight  in  conferring  existence  upon  eve- 
ry degree  of  perceptive  being.  As  this  is  a  speculation,* 
which  1  have  often  pursued  with  great  pleasure  to  my- 
self, 1  shall  enlarge  farther  upon  it,  by  considermg  that 
part  of  the  scale  of  beings,  wiiich  corner  within  our 
knowledge. 

7.  There  are  some  living  creatures,  which  are  raised 
but  just  above  dead  matter.  To  mention  only  that  spe- 
cies of  sliell-fish,  which  is  formed  in  the  fashion  of  a 
cone^  that  grows  to  the  surface  of  several  rocks;  and 
mxmediatelv  dies,  on  being  severed  from  the  place  where 
Jtgrew.  There  are  many  other  creatures  but  one  re* 
move  from  these,  which  have  no  other  sense  than  that  of 

j  feeling  and  taste.     Others  have  still  an  additional  one  of 
liearing;  others  of  smell ;  and  others  of  sight. 
8 


Ml  JBitMinateak.  J»rri 

•-  it  Is  nonderfhl  to  obserrc,  by  what  a  gmdittal  prtfh 

?rc98  the  world  of  life  advances,  through  a  prodigious  w 
iety  of  species,  before  a  creature  is  formed,  that  is  comi> 
plete  in  all  its  senses:  and  even  among  these,  there  is 
Buch  a  diffeFent  degree  of  perfection,  in  the  sense  which 
one  animal  enjoys  beyond  what  appears  in  another,  that 
though  the  sense  in  different  animals  is  distinguished  by 
the  same  common  denomination,  it  seems  almost  of  a 
different  nature. 

9.  If,  after  this,  we  look  into  the  several  inward  per- 
fections of  cunning  and  sag;icit5%  or  what  we  genel*ally 
call  iiTsti net,'  we  find  them  rising,  after  the  same  manner,  v 
imperceptibly  one  above  another ;  and  receiving  addi-  ' 
tional  improvements,  according  to  the  species,  in  which 
they  are  implanted.  This  progress  in  nature  is  so  very 
gradual,  that  the  most  perfect  of  an  inferior  speciea 
comes  very  near  to  the  most  imperfect  of  that  which  ii 
immediately  above  it. 

10.  The  exuberant'"  Snd  overflowing  goodness  of  tb© 
Supreme  Being,  whose  mercy  extends  to  all  his  works,  ii 
plamly  seen,  as  J  have  before  hinted,  in  his  having  madd 
so  very  little  matter,  at  least  what  falls  within  our  know- 
ledge, that  does  not  swarm  with  life.  Nor  is  his  good- 
ness less  seen  in  the  diversity,  than  in  the  multitude  of 
living  creatures.  Had  he  made  but  one  species  of  ani- 
mals, none  of  the  rest  would  have  enjoyed  the  happiness 
of  existence  :  he  has,  therefore,  specijied"  in  his  creation, 
every  degreeof  life,  every  capacity  of  being. 

11.  The  whole  chasm  of  nature,  from  a  plant  to  a  man, 
18  filled  up  with  divera"  kinds  of  creatures,  rising  one  af- 
ter another,  by  an  ascent  so  gentle  and  easy,  that  the  lit- 
tle transitions^  and  deviations  from  one  species  to  anoth- 
er, are  almost  insensible.  This  intermediate^  space  is  so 
well  husbanded  and  managed,  that  there  is  scarcely  a  de- 
gree of  perception,  which  does  not  appear  in  some  one 
part  of  the  world  of  life.  Is  the  goodness,  or  the  wis- 
dom of  the  Divine  Being,  more  manifested  in  this  his 
proceeding  ? 

12^  There  is  a  consequence,  besides  those  I  have  alrea- 
dy menHoned,  which  seems  very  naturally  d<'ducible^  from 
the  foregoing  considerations,  if  the  scale  of  being  rises 
by  so  regular  a  progress,  so  high  as  man,  we  may,  by 
parity  of  reason,  suppose,  that  it  still  proceeds  gradually 
through  those  beings  which  are  of  a  superior  natura  to 
bioi ;  siaoft  there  ii  infinitely  greater  space  and  room  lor 


Chofi,  tw 


rAoni»x:v»C«  ftc«jE». 


flifTeirnt  degrc?«8  of  pei*fect1(»n,  betive<»n  fh«  Stmrc^meBfi^ 
|ng  and  man,  tlian  between  man  and  the  most  aebpicable» 
insect. 

IS.  In  this  gjrcat  syst<?m  of  hein?^,  thpre  is  no  crp.atar* 
BO  wonderful  in  its  nature,  and  which  so  much  deservfa 
our  particular  attention,  as  m-in  ;  wiio  fills  up  the  niiddl'i 
space  between  the  animal  and  tlif  intellectual  nature,  th« 
visible  and  the  invisible  world  :  and  who  is  tiiat  link  in 
the  chain  of  being,  which  forms  the  connexions  between 
both.  Sotliat  he  who,  in  one  reepect  is  as$eciated  with 
anjrels  and  archan^,tls,  and  may  look  upon  a  Being  of 
infinite  perfecrion  as  hia  fiither,  and  the  highest  order  of 
ipirits  as  his  hretiiren,  may,  in  arujther  respect,  say  *•  cor- 
ruption, thou  art  my  father,  and  to  the  worm,  inou  art 
jny  iiother  and  my  sister.'* 


ADDISOIf. 


Ob-nox-iouB,   ib-rftk'-shfis, 

liable  to  punmliriK^nt 
Con-lin  ijen-cy,   k6n-i!n'-j^n-«*,  tffii- 

dent,  il.cqup.liiy  of  being  luiiuilous. 

po85ibiIity 
At-tri  buto,  &t'-tri-L6te,  the  thing  at- 


SKCTiON  XXI. 


tribuiu'l,  bonoiir,  qnalify  sdbertMl^ 

an  n|ii>en(iant 
U  Om-ni«-ri-ciice,  Am-nTgh'-i-fni'^,  iofr 
\v-i)<tloin,  boiiiuiiMs  knowirdft 
:  Su  |»#r-nnt-u-rttl,  c6-)Tir-n&t'-tthi-r^ 

zbuvo  uttiurc 


Tnist  in  the.  care  of  Providence  recommtndej 

1.  Man,   considered  in  himself,  is  a  very  helpii^^j,   inii 
very  wretched  beinp.  .  lie  is  subject  every  moment  to 

tlie  gjreatest  calamities  and  misfoitunes.  He  is  beief 
ivith  dangers  ojj  all  sides  ;  and  may  becc^me  unhappy  by 
TiUmberless  casualties,  which  hr  could  not  foresee,  nor 
have  prevented  had  he  foreseen  tliem, 

2.  it  is  our  comfort,  wliile  we  are  ot;noxious«  tn  so  m«* 
ny  accidents,  that  we  are  under  the  care  of  onk  who  di- 
rects contingencies,''  and  has  in  his  hands  ihe  management 
of  every  thinq;  that  is  capable  of  annoying  orolTendu!^  us; 
"Who  knows  the  assistance  we  stand  In  need  of,  and  is  al» 
ways  ready  to  bestow  it  on  thoee  who  ask  it  of  him. 

rt.  TTie  natural  homage,  which  such  a  creature  owes  to 
80  infinitely  wise  and  good   a  liein^,  is  a  firm  reliance  oa 
Mm  for  the  blessings  and  conveniences  of  life  ;  and  ao 
habitual  trust  in  bim,  for  deliverance  out  of  all  such  dan 
perrt  and  dilFiculties  as  may  befall  us. 

4.  '3'he  man  who  always  lives  In  this  disposition  os 
mind,  has  not  the  same  dark  and  melancholy  views  of  hii» 
man  nature,  as  he  who  considers  himself  abstractedly  froiji 
Ihis  relation  to  the  Sup^ejina  Bein^.     At  tht  tirat  time 


|li«t  he  i^ftects  npon  his  own  weakness  and  hiaperfbctlon, 
tie  comforts  himself  with  the  contemplation  of  those  dh 
▼ine  attributes/  which  are  employ ed  lor  his  safety,  andf 
his  welfiire. 

5.  He  finds  his  want  of  foresljijht  made  up,  by  the  om- 
niscience*^ of  him  who  is  his  support.  Me  is  nr>t  sensible 
of  his  own  want  of  strenj^th,  when  he.  knows  thit  liia 
helper  is  almighty.  In  short,  the  person  who  has  a  firm 
trust  in  the  Supreme  Being,  is  powerful  in  his  jx^wer, 
wise  by  his  wisuum,  happy  by  his  hai>pine3s..  He  rt^s 
the  benefit  of  every  divine  attribute  ;  a  jd  loses  his  owa 
insulliciency  in  the  fidness  of  inlinite  perfection. 

6.  To  make  our  lives  more  easy  to  us,  we  are  com- 
manded  to  put  our  trust  in  him,  who  is  thus  able  to  re-  ^ 
iieve  and  succour  us  ;  the  Divine  Goodness  having;  mad«  I 
such, a  rehance  a  duty,  notwithstanding  we  should  have 
been  miserable,  had  it  been  forbidden  us.  Attiong  aey- 
eral  motives,  which  might  be  made  use  of  to  recoin:\3end 
this  duty  to  us,  I  shall  only  take  notice  of  those  that  fol- 
low. 

7.  The  first  and  strongest  is,  that  we  are  promised,  h« 
will  not  fail  those  who  put  their  trust  in  him.  But  with- 
out considering  the  supernatural'  blessing,  which  accom- 
panies tbis  duty,  we  may  observe,  that  it  has  a  natural 
tendency  to  its  own  reward  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  this 
firm  trust  and  confidence  in  the  great  disposer  of  all 
things,  contribute  very  much  to  the  getting  clear  of  any 
affliction,  or  to  the  bearing  of  it  man! ally. 

8.  4  person  who  believes  he  has  his  succour  at  Jian<I 
and  that  he  acts  in  the  sight  of  his  friend,  often  exerts 
himself  beyond  his  abilities  ;  and  does  wonders,  that  are 
not  to  be  matched  by  one  who  is  not  animated  v/ith  such 
a  confidence  of  success.  Trust  i/i  the  assistance  of  an 
Almighty  Being  naturally  produces  patience,  hope,  cheer- 
i'ulnes3,  and  all  other  dispositions  of  mind,  wnich  idle- 
viate  those  calamities  that  we  are  not  able  to  remove. 

9.  Thi^  practice  of  this  virtue  administers  great  com- 
fort to  the  mind  of  man,  in  tinics  of  j).)verty  and  afflic- 
tion ;  but  most  of  all,  in  the  hour  of  death.  When  the 
soul  is  hovering,  in  the  last  moments  of  its  separation; 
when  it  is  just  entering  on  another  state  of  existence,  to 
converse  with  scenes,  and  objects,  and  companions,  that 
are  altogether  new  ;  what  can  su[)port  her  under  such 
tremblings  of  thought,  such  fear,  such  anxiety,  such  ap- 
£N[6(dh«naioQB,  btitthe  casting  of  all  her  cares  upouHiM,  Khe 


iln»t  gave  her  behig ;  who  has  conducted  her  throush  o«n 
4tage  of  it ;  and  who  will  be  always  present,  to.gui^uaad' 
oomfort  her  in  her  progress  through  eternity  ? 

ADD1901?C 

SECTION  XXII. 


A  R»  ci[)-rn-ral,  r^-slp'-pri-ka),  alter 
nmf,  niuiutii 

I  Cmi  fi«(i,  koa-vgrl',  to  change  into  a 
riutlu-T  oiAie  ortiibsiaiicu 

€  Un-iius  pic-ioux,  finsft.vidrth'-Bi,  hnv- 
utg  no  su!ipicion 

d  I'tf-vout,  U^-vdilii',  pious,  rwligious 
G<aliy 

0  Trace,  irAse,  to  follow,  to  mark  out 

/  Co:j-cur-rencH,  k6ii-kur'-r6ij*e,  un- 
ion, cuinliiiiutiuu,  help 


g  Inci-dent,  Tn'-8i-d?nt.easualty,  •r«»| 
k  Steultli,  sK-kh,  thoft,  a  t^crci  act 
t  Un-ap'ptill  fcU,     £in  4p-p4w'l*d',     not 

daunted 
j  Spoc-tre,  ijj^k'-tur,  an  apparition,  a 

ghoat 
k  Shup  herd,  KhSp'-p5rd,  one  who  tend« 

iilicep 
I  Ex  hib-it,  ^2S-hIb'-lt,  tu  propose,  to 

sliow 
m  GruHS,  gr&ae,  corpulent,  dull,  coars* 


Pkty  and  gratitude  enliven  prosperity, 

1.  Piety,  alid  gratitude  to  God,  contribute.  In  a  high 
degree,  to  enliven  prosj^rity.  Gratitude  is  a  pleasing 
emotion.  The  sense  of  being  distinguished  by  the  kind- 
ness of  another,  gladdens  the  heart,  warms  it  with  recip- 
rocal-^ afi'ectinn,  and  give?  to  an}'  possession  which  is 
aj^reeable  in  itself,  a  double  relish,  from  its  being  the  gift 
«1  a  friend. 

2.  Favours  conferred  by  ynen,  1  acknowledge,  may 
prove  burdensome.  For  humaii  virtue  is  never  perfect  \ 
and  sometimes  unreasonable  ex])jectations  on  the  one 
side,  sometimes  a  mortifying  sense  of  dependence  on  the 
/Other,  conode  ui  secret  tlie  pleasures  of  benefits,  and  pon** 
vert''  the  obligations  of  friendship  into  grounds  of  jeaU 
ousy. 

3.  B^it  nothing  of  this  kind  can  afiect  the  intercourse 
of  gratit'ide  with  Heaven.  Jts  favours  are  wbolly  disin- 
terested ;  and  with  a  gr^ititude  tlie  most  cordial  and  un- 
suspicious,'^ a  good  man  looks  up  to  that  Almighty  Hene- 
factor,  who  aims  at  no  end  but  the  happiness  of  those 
whom  he  blesses,  and  who  desires  to  return  from  then^t 
but  a  devout^^  and  thj«nkfui  iieart. 

4.  WhiUi  others  can  tracer  their  prosperity  to  no  high- 
er source  than  a  concurrence/  of  worldly  causes  ;  and, 
often  of  mean  or  trilling  incidents,^  which  occasionally 
lavo^ired  their  designs  ;  with  what  superior  satisfactioj 
dpes  the  servant  of  God  remark  the  hand  of  tha^  graciouji 
power  which  hath  raised  him  up  ;  which  bath  happily  cofc 
d:9^eu4  him  through  tiM  varMHw  liUpe  of  iife«  ami  ero^vKMNl 


Mm   TfHh  the  most  fdTourahle    distinction  beyond  hfs 

5.  Let  us  farther  consider,  that  not  only  gratitude  for 
the  past,  but  a  cheerinjj;  senSe  of  divine  fiivour  at  the 
present,  enters  into  the  pious  emotion.  They  are  only 
tha  virtuoos,  who  in  their  ]>rosperous  days  hear  this  voice 
addressed  to  them,  "  Go  thy  way,  eat  thy  bread  with 
joy,  and  drink  thy  wine  wiili  a  cheerful  heart;  for  God 
now  accepteth  thy  works."  lie  who  is  the  author  of 
their  prosperity,  ji;ives  them  a  title  to  enjoy,  with  com- 
placency, his  own  gift. 

6.  While  b^i-d  men  snatch  the  pleasures  of  the  w- orld  as 
by  stealth,'''  without  countenance  from  the  great  Proprie- 
tor of  the  world,  the  righteous  sit  openly  down  to  ihe 
feast  of  life,  under  the  smiie  of  approving  heaven.  No 
guilty  fears  damp  their  joys.  The  blessing  of  God  rests 
upon  all  that  they  possess  ;'his  protection  surrounds  I  hem  ; 
and  hence,  **in'the  habitations  of  the  righteous,  is  found 
the  voice  of  rejoicing  and  salvation." 

7.  A  lustre  unknown  to  others,  invests,  in  their  sight, 
the  whole  face  of  nature.  Their  piety  reflects  a  sunshine 
from  heaven  upon  the  prosperity  of  the  world ;  unites  in 
one  point  of  view,  the  smiling  aspect,  both  of  the  pow- 
ers above*  and  of  the  objects  below.  Not  only  have  they 
as  full  a  relish  as  others,  for  the  innocent  pleasures  of  life, 
but,  moreover,  in  these  they  hold  communion  with  their 
divine  benefactor. 

8.  In  all  that  is  good  or  fair,  they  trace  his  hand. 
From  the  beauties  of  nature,  from  the  improvements  of 
art,  from  the  enjoyments  of  social  life,  tliey  raise  their 
aiiection  to  the  source  of  all  the  happiness  which  sur- 
rounds them  ;  and  thus  widen  the  sphere  of  their  pleas- 
ures, by  addin;^  intellectual  and  spiritual,  toeartlily  joys, 

y.  For  illustration  of  what  I  have  said  on  this  fiead, 
remark  that  cheerful  enjoyment  of  a  proj<j)erous  slate, 
which  Kir)g  David  had  when  he  wrote  tlie  twenty-third 
psalm  ;  and  compare  the  lii;?;hest  })leasures  of  tiie  riotous 
sinner,  with  the  happy  and  satisfud  spirit  whieli  breathes 
throughout  that  psalm. — In  the  midst  of  the  splendour 
of  royalty,  with  whatamidble  simniicity  of  ratitude  doe» 
lie  look  up  to  the  Lord  as  *' his  Sht^jdierd  ;"  l?'ppi'.-r  in 
a'icribini^  ail  his  success  to  Divine  favour,  than  tcthe  poli- 
cy of  his  councils,  or  to  the  force  of  his  arms  ! 

10.  Hqi^  many  instances  of  divine  goodncfls  arose  be^ 
ftm  him  in  pleMio^  MOMmbvaoca*  wbMo,  vkbi  auch  r«i» 


Hh,  h«  ipeaJ:»  of  the  ••  green  pastures  and  itfH  wet«r«, 
beside  which  God  had  led  him  ;  of  his  cup  which  he  ha4 
made  to  overflow  ;  and  of  the  table  which  he  had  prepar- 
ed for  him  in  the  presence  of  his  enemies  !"  VV  itn  what 
f)erf»^.ct  trHnquillity  does  he  iook  forward  to  tlie  time  of 
lib  paasinp;  thioUi;h  ''  the  valh'y  of  the  shadow  of  death  ;" 
unapparud  b)'  tiwit  spectreJ  >>  hose  most  distant  appear- 
ance bhista  the  prosperity  of  sinners. 

11.  lie  fears  no  evil,  as  long  as  '*  the  rod  and  the  staflT* 
of  Ilia  Divine  Shep^.erd^  are  with  him;  and  throug;h  all 
the  unl<nown  periods  of  this  and  of  future  t^xistence, 
commits  himself  to  his  guidance  with  secure  ai.d  trium- 
phant hope:  "Surely  go(»dness  and  mercy  will  follow 
me  all  the  days  of  my  lif^;;  and  I  shall  dwell  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord  for  ever." 

12.  What  a  piuified,  sentimental  enjoyment  of  pros, 
perity  is  here  exhibited  !^  llow  dilFerent  fnun  that  gro!vs«» 
relish  of  worldly  pleasures,  which  belongs  to  those  who 
behold  only  the  terrestrial  side  of  things  :  who  raise  their 
riews  to  nf>  higher  objects  than  the  succession  of  human 
contingencies,  and  the  weak  efforts  of  human  ability : 
who  have  no  protector  in  the  heavens,  to  enliven  their 
prosperity,  or  to  warm  tiieir  hearts  with   gratitude  aoi 

trust.  SJiAlR. 

SECTION  XXIIl. 


«  n«-phej»  tion,    hi-f£«'-t#hrir.,  n  Mace 

donian,    fainoui    for  liii    intiinac) 

w|;h  Alexander 
t  Si-(1o-ni-&[i,  B^-d^'-ni-fta,  a  native  oT 

SuJoii 
e   Din-ii.-fer-es-tftd,      dIz-lii-Ur-Ja'-tid, 

free  tVoMi  8«if  !ni«rft*t 
d  Ab-(lu-loR-y-iiiUi.     Ab-dft-!6n'-A-mfii 

onn  r.r  t)i«  deicendanu  of  iJie  k'ntgi 

of  S  don 


e  Bii-pC!!-],  •ll'-pJnd,  wajta,  Mt(]«U  ynj 
f  U-ieii-A.I,    y6  li:j'-»il,  any  Uk«ful  t** 

■tniiiiaiit 
r  Re  fal,  ri'-^Al,  royal,  kinfly 
h  S'jfp-irw,   sip'-iftr,  an  euti^n  •f  try- 

a!fy 
i  U-ltiMiion,  ll-lu'-zhSii,  falas  show,  «r* 

rpur 
j  Mur-niur,  inAr'-niAr,  a  buzx.,  f ranU«| 
'        to  buzz,  to  |;rutnbl« 


Virtue  J  lehcn  deeply  rooted,  is  not  subject  to  the  influence  ej 
fortunt. 
1.  Thk  city  of  Sidon  having  surrendered  to  Alexan- 
der, he  ordered  Hephustiori"  to  bestow  the  crown  on  him 
whom  the  Sidonians'-  should  think  most  worthy  of  that 
honour.  Hephestion  being  at  that  time  resident  with, 
two  young  men  of  distinction,  offered  them  the  kingdom  i 
but  they  refused  it,  telling  him  that  it  was  contr:iry  xi 
t!m  laws  of  their  coimtry,  to  admit  i\r\^  D|}«  Uf  Xh^M  hott^ 


5H9  E^eMSH  ffS^AD^uu  Part  U 

^  lie  then,  having  expressed  his  admh-atlon  of  thehr 
4isinterested*^  spirit,  desired  them  to  name  one  of  the 
rwyal  race,  who  might reinemberthat  he  had  received  the 
crown  through  their  hands.  Overlooking^  many,  who 
would  have  been  ambitious  of  this  high  nonour,  they 
made  choice  of  Abdali:;iTjmus,<^  whose  siuguiar  m^rit  had 
rendered  him  conspicuous,  even  in  tiie  vale  of  obscurity. 

S.  Though  remotely  related  to  the  royal  family,  a  se- 
ries of  misfortunes  4iad  reduced  him  to  the  necessity  of 
cuUivatiag  a  garden  for  a  small  stipend,'  in  the  fuburhs  of 
the  city.  Wiwle  Abdalonymus  was  busily  emj):loyed  in 
weeding  his  garden,  the  two  friends  of  Hephestion,  bear- 
ing in  their  hands  the  ensigns  of  royalty,  approa.ehed 
him  and  saluted  him  king.  i 

4.  They  informed  him  that  Alexander  had  appointed    1 
liim  to  that  office  ;  and  required  him  immediately  to  ex-    j 
change   his   rustic  garb,  and   utensils/  of  husbandry,   for    1 
the  regal?  robe  and  sceptre.''     At  the  same  time,  they  ad- 
monished him,  Avhen  he  should  be  seated  on  the  throne, 
and  have  a  nation  in  his  power,  rvot  to  forget  the  humble 
condition  from  which  he  had  been  raised. 

5.  All  this,  at  the  ftrst,  appeared  to  Abdalonymus  as  an 
illusion'  of  the  fancy,  or  an  insult  oft'ered  to  llis  poverty. 
He  rec^uested  them  not  to  trouble  him  farther  with  their 
impertment  j<*sts  ;  and  to  find  some  other  way  of  amus- 
ing themselve',  which  might  leave  him  in  tjie  peaceable 
enjoyment  of  his  obscure  habitation.  x\t  length,  howev- 
er, tliey  convinced  him,  that  they  were  serious  in  their 
proposal ;  and  prevailed  upon  lijm  to  accepts  ;tlie  regal  of- 
hce,  ana  accompany  them  to  the  palace. 

6.  No  sooner  cwas  he  in  possession  of  the  government, 
than  pride  and  envy  created  him  enemies;  w},)o  whisper- 
4id  their  murmurs.'  in  t^very  place,  till  at  last  tiiey  reached 
the  ear  of  Alexander.  He  commanded  the  fiew  elected 
prince  to  be  sentior;  and  incjuired  of  him,  with  what 
tempijr  of  mind  he  had  borne  his  poverty. 

7.  *' Would  to  Heaven,"  replied  Abdalonymus,  **  that 
I  may  be  able  to  bear  my  crown  with  equal  modenition  : 
for  when  1  possessed  little,  J  vvant<d  nothing  :  these  hands 
■upplied  me  with  whatever  1  desired."  From  this^nswer, 
Alexander  formed  so  high  an  idea  oi  his  wisdo^ia,  that 
4ie  confirmed  the  choice  which  had  been  made;  and  an- 
fiexod   a  nei^boiiring  province  to   the  goTftrnnficnt  of 


wriipr  ill  tlie  r«ign  ol"  Nero,  Hh  was 
Rml.n-vsadwr  \u  Plh-ilu;s 
A>n  4»a«-sn  clur,  Ani-bAs  sA-dfir,  an  a 
g..nf  Iromono  governaionl  to  anoth 
er 
«  fyr  Flita,  p!r'-r6s,  a  cplibraictl  kin<! 
of  Cpirus,  doticendeci   Iroin  Aclm 


SECTION  XXIV.  ^ 

Ld  Qual-i-fi-ca-floo,  kw«H*-f>-k4'-Bh' 
\         uit  bccornpiinliinent,  abaUMiient 
■  A-liit  »  ty,  A  bli -e  I*,  the  power  lo  <*• 

any  lim  g 
/  or  rii-i-ate,  6l'-fith'-e  Ate,  to  perform 

ntjothcr's  ilu:)' 
r  Augiii-i,  iw-gObi'.  grcdi,  royal,  mn^ 

lUlfCCHl 

Te«  by  ihb  side  oJ  hiH  inolker,  aii(l  A  Con  tiot ,  kAn-flile',  to  trust  in,  rr'y 
from  Hcrt:uicd  by   that  of  his   fa-it   No  go-ti-«-iion,       uiyi-shA  k'-nhfiii, 

l^cr  I         treaty  of  busintsB 

Thes}*etch  of  Fabricius,"  a  Roman  amhassadcr,^  to  king 
Pyrrhus,^  who  atitmpttd  to  bribe  him  to  hia  initrestSy  by 
tfie  ojj'tr  of  a  grtat  sum  of  vioiicy. 

1.  WirAftf;if^>t^  my  ptverty,  the  kinj?  has,  indeeil 
been  justly  infiirmed.  My  ^\h•Ui  ♦'}^tate  consists  in  a 
h#nse\>l  hut  mefin  iippeariaiiie^aiiLa-iitxle  sp»t  ol'^muiid  ; 
frofh  which  hy  my  own  labour,  I  draw  my  sujjport.  Hut 
if,  by  any  means,  thou  haBt  bti-n  persuaded  lo  think  that 
this  poverty  rt-nders  me  of  less  coiihequenoe  in  my  own 
country,  or  in  iiny  degree  unhappy,  thou  art  greatly  de- 
ceived. 

2.  1  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  v)rtune  :  ahe  sup- 
plies me  with  all  that  nature  requires;  and  if  ]  am  wiili- 
out  superiluities,  1  am  also  free  ft-oni  tiie  desire  of  them. 
With  these,  1  confess  1  should  be  more  able  to  sticcour 
the  necessitous,  the  only  advantage  for  which  the  wealthy 
are  to  be  envit- d  ;  but  small  as  my  possessions  are,  1  can 
still  contribute  something  to  the  support  of  the  state,,  and 
the  assistance  of  my  friends. 

3.  With  respect  to  honours,  my  country  places  me, 
poor  as  1  am,  upon  a  level  with  tiie  ricliest:  fi»r  Kome 
Knows  no  qualifications'^  for  j^reat  empbyments,  but  vir- 
tue and  ability .''  She  apj>omts  me  to  'otficltiie/  in  the 
most  august^  ceremonies  ol  religion  ;  she  intrusts  me  with 
the  command  of  her  armies  ;  she  confides^  to  my  care 
the  most  important  negotiations.*  IVly  poverty  does  not 
lessen  the  weight  of  my  counsels  in  the  senate.  The  Ko- 
mnn  people  honour  me  for  that  very  poverty,  which  king 
Pyrrhus  considers  as  a  disgrace. 

4.  They  know  the  many  op}>ortunitieg  1  have  had  to 
tnrich  myself,  without  censure  ;  they  are  convinced  of 
my  disinterested  zeal  foi  tlieir  prosperity  :  and  if  1  have 
any  thin^  to  complain  of,  in  the  re4;urn  they  make  ine,  it 
t#  only  the  eicesa  of  their  applause.    What  Yhhie,  then* 


#t4  BMI.ISH  ftEADKft.  Part  t. 

^tnn  1  pnt  upon  thy  gold  and  silver  ?     Whmt  kfng  can  add 
any  thinj;  to  my  fortune  ?    ^Uvvays  attentive  to  discharge'' 
the  duties  incumbent  upon  me,  1   have  a^mind  free  from 
§elf-reproach  ;  and  1  have  an  honest  fame. 

SfiCTFoN  XXV.  ,       • 

•  In-of-f«n-giv«,  !n-6f-fin'-8lv,  harmless, |         ostentation  of  learnitijf 

innocent  e  Pa-cif-ick,  pi-slf-nk,  mild,  gentle 


h  S»-tir«,si'-tfir,sAt'-i^r,  si'-tire,  orsAt'- 
Ire,  &  poftin  in  winch  wickedness  or 
folly  ii«  censured 

#  Con-lem-po-ra-ry,  k&n-tftm'-p6-rA-r4, 
living  in  th«  same  ag«,  ono  who  lives 
at  the  hume  time  with  another 

4  Ptd-an-lry,    pW'-dAn-tri,    awkward 


/  l*u-sil-iaii-im-i-ty,  pfi-s11-lin-T:n-mft- 
t^,,  niefitinesa  of  spirit,  cowurdioe 

a-  Nu-tral-i-ly,  nij-tr&l'-^-t^,  a  utate  of 
inditFerence 

h  In-tri-cate,  !n'-tri-ki.te,  entangled, 
porj)loxcd 

i  Do-vuid,  d^-vild',  empty,  vacant 


Character  o/  Jame^  I.  kin£  of^ir^glan^, 

1.  No  PRINCE,  so  little  enterprising:;  and  so  inoffensii|p,« 
was  "ever  so  much  exposed  to  the  opposite  extremes  ot 
calumny  and  flattery,  of  satire*  and  panegyric.  And  the 
factions  which  began  in  his  time,  being  still  continued,  j' 
liave  made  his  character  be  as  much  disputed  to  this  day, 
as  is  commonly  that  of  princes  who  are  our  contempora 
ries.' 

2.  Many  virtues,  liowever,  it  must  be  owned,  he  was 
possessed  of  ;  but  not  one  of  them  pure,  or  free  from  the 
contagion  of  the  neighbouring  vices.  His  generosity  bor- 
dered on  profusion,  nis  learnm^  on  pedantry,'^'  his  pacific- 
disposition  on  pusillanimity*/ his  wisdom  on  cunning,  his 
friendship  on  light  fancy  and  boyish  fondness.  While  he 
hnagined  that  he  was  only  inaintaining  his  own  authori- 
ty, he  may  perhaps  be  su^pf^cted  in  some  of  his  actions, 
and  still  ?nore  of  his  pretentions,  to  have  encroached  on 
the  liberties  of  his  people. 

3.  VVfiile  he  endtavoured,  by  an  exact  neutrality ,«"  to  ac- 
quire the  good  will  of  all  his  neighbours,  he  was  able  to 
preserve  fully  the  esteem  and  regard  of  none.  His  capa- 
city was  considerable,  but  fitter  to  discourse  on  general 
maxims,  than  to  conduct  any  intricate*  business, 

4.  His  intentions  were  just,  but  more  adapted  to  the 
conduct  of  private  life,  than  to  the  government  of  king- 
doms. Awkward  in  his  person,  and  ungainly  in  his  man- 
ners, h^  was  ill  c]ualifiea  to  command  respect:  partial 
and  undiscerning  in  his  aflections,  he  was  little  fitted  to 
acquire  general  love.  Of  a  feeble  temper,  more  than  oj 
%  fptiga)  ^widgn5«nt ;  exposed  to  our  ridiou>6  frona  his  rajo- 


Chap,  9. 


VB.ovnncxwv*  PiEc«» 


ftt# 


tty,  but  expmpt  from  our  hatred  by  hh  fre«dOra  from 
pMe  and  arrogance. 

5.  And,  upon  the  vrhol<»,  it  may  be  pronounced  of  his 
character,  that  all  his  qualities  i\  ere  sullied  with  weakness, 
and  embellished  with  humanity.  Political  courage  he 
,  was  certainly  devoid' of  ;  and  from  thence  chieilv  is  de- 
'  rived  the  strong  prejudice,  which  prevails  against  bis  per- 
sonal bravery  ;  an  inference,  however,  wliich  must  be 
owned,  from  general  experience,  to  be  extremely  falla- 
cious. HUME. 

SECTION  XXVI. 


irict,  legal  authority,  extent  of  pow 

er 
k  Ab  Eolve,  Ah  z61v',  to  clean,  to  quit 

ot"  a  crime 
I  Al-le-piance,  il-l^^jinse,  th«  duty  of 

Bubjecta  to  u  government 
m  Re-count,  ri-kAinl',  to  relate   Id  d^ 

tail 
n  Ar-du-ou8,   Ir'-j6-fi8,   lofty,  hard   M 

climb 
0  Im-plore,  Im-plire',  to   solicit,    ask, 

bPg 
p  Dis-penso,  dTd-p^nse',  to  deal  out,  e>> 

ciiso,  give 
q  Pa-ter-niil,   pi-tir'-n41,   futlierif,  he- 
reditary 
r  In-vi-o-la-ble,  Tn-vl'-i-lA  bl,  not  to  b» 

injured,  not  to  be  brokeo 


a  Pre-em-  i-nence,  pri-?m'-m4-n^n«e.  «u- 

periour  exceilenpe      ^ 
5  I>«j-scend,  d^-sind',  to  come  down,  to 

fail  down         • 
.  c  Ef-fort,  if'-firt,  a  struggle,  laborious 

endeavour 
i  Ri-vul,  ri'-v41,  a  competitor,   to   op 

pOKO 

g  Wresi,  r^*t,  tapull,  snatch,  violCincc 

/  Di-o  cle-»i-Rn,«li-i-kli'-zhi-&ii,  a  cel- 
ebrated Romnn  cmporour,  born  of 
an  obscure  family  in  Dalinatia 

ff  Rein,  rine,  part  of  a  bridir,  tf»  gov 
ern  by  a  bridle,  to  control,  t  j  roHtain 

k  Pon-i-tont,  pfiri'-ni-t<*nt,  one  Borrow 
ful  for  gin,  sorrowful 

I  Pur-HU-ance,  pfir-fiV- Anse,  process, 
pursuit,  cuntiiinneuce 

j  Ju-ris-dic-tioji,  ju-r!«-dlk'-shun,  a  dii 

Charles  V.  Emperor  of  Germany,  resisrns  his  dominions^ 
and  rctirts  from  tfit  world, 

1.  This  p:reat  emperor  in  the  plentilude  of  his  power, 
and  in  possession  of  all  tiiehono:irs  which  can  flatter  the 
heart  of  man,  took  the  extraordinary  resolution,  to  re- 
sign his  kini^doms ;  and  to  withdraw  entirely  from  any 
concern  in  business  or  the  affairs  of  this  world,  in  order 
that  he  might  spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  retire- 
ment and  solitude. 

2.  Though  it  requires  neither  deep  reflection,  nor  ex- 
traordinary discernment,  to  discover  that  the  state  of  roy- 
alty is  not  exempt  from  cares  and  disappointments  ; 
though  most  of  those  who  are  exalted  to  a  throne,  And 
solicitude,  and  satiety,  and  disgust,  to  be  their  perpetual 
attendants,  in  that  envied  pre-eminence  ;«  yet,  to  desoend* 
voluntarily  from  the  supreme  to  a  subordinate  siatioB, 
and  tp  refmquish  the  possetsit^n  of  rroiror  In  ordfr  %o  atl- 


^ain  the  enjoyment  of  happiness,  aeeiiw  to  he  an  efforto 
%oo  great  for  the  human  mind. 

3.  Several  instances,  indsed,  occur  in  history,  of  mort- 
archs  who  have  quitted  a  throne,  and  have  ended  their  days 
m  retireriienl.  But  they  were  either  weak  princes,  who 
took  this  resolution  rashly,  and  repented  of  it  as  soon  as  it 
was  taken  ;  or  unfortuur'te  princes,  from  whose  hands 
some  strong  rivaH  had  wrested'  their  sceptre,  and  com- 
pelled them  to  descend  with  reluctance  into  a  private  sta- 
tion. 

4.  Dioclesian/ is,  perhaps,  the  only  prince  capable  of 
holdini^the  reins'  of  government,  who  ever  resigned  them 
from  deliberate  choice;  and  who  continued,  during  many 
years,  to  enjoy  the  tranquillity  6f  retirement,  without 
fetching  one  penitent''  sigh,  or  casting  back  one  look  of 
desire,  towards  the  power  or  dignity  which  he  had  aban- 
doned. 

5.  No  wonder,  then,  that  Charles's  resignation  should 
fill  all  Europe  with  astonishment;  and  give  rise,  both 
among  his  contemporaries,  and  among  the  historians  of 
that  period,  to  various  conjectures  concerning  the  motives 
whi'cn  determined  a  prince,  whose  ruling  passion  had 
been  uniformly  the  love  of  power,  at  tbe  age  of  fjfty-six, 
when  objects  of  ambition  operate  with  full  force  on  the 
mind,  and  are  pursued  with  the  greatest  ardour,  to  take 
a  resolution  so  singular  and  unexpected. 

6.  The  Emperor,  in  pursuance*  of  his  determination, 
having  assemoled  the  states  of  the  Low  Countries  at 
Brussels,  seated  himself,  for  the  last  time,  in  the  chair  of 
state  ;  on  one  side  of  which  was  placed  his  son,  and  on 
the  other,  his  sister  the  (pieen  of  Hungary,  regent  of  the 
Netherlands,  with  a  splendid  retinue  of  the  grandei^s  ot 
Spain,  and  prince*,  of  the  empires  standing  beiiind  him. 

7.  The  president  of  the  council  of  Flanders,  by  his 
command,  explained,  in  a  few  words,  his  intention  in 
calling  this  extraordinary  meeting  of  the  states.  He  then 
read  the  instrument  of  resignation,  by  which  Charles 
Burrendered  to  his  son  Philip  all  his  territories,  jurisdic- 
tion,-' and  authority  in  the  Low  Countries  ;  absolving*  his 
subjects  there  from  their  oath  of  allegiance/ tohim,  which 
he  required  them  to  transfer  to  Phdip  his  lawful  heir  ; 
and  to  serve  him  with  the  same  loyalty  and  zeal  that 
they  had  manifested,  during  so  long  a  course  of  years,  in 
fupport  of  his  government. 

i.  Charles  then  rose  from  jiis  se'at,  and  teanirig  oh  tb« 


Chap.  94  Fromiscuods  Pieces.  CIT 

fBhoulder  of  the  prince  of  Orange,  lyccanse  he  was  un»». 
ble  to  stand  without  support,  he  addressed  himself  to  th6 
liudienoe  ;  and  from  a  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  in 
order  to  assist  his  memory,  he  recounted, »«  with  dignity, 
but  without  ostentation,  all  the  great  things  which  he  had. 
undertaken  and  performed,  since  the  commencement  of 
his  administration. 

9.  He  observed,  that  from  the  seventeenth  yrar  of  his 
«ge,  lie  had  dedicated  all  his  thoughts  and  attention  to 
public  objects,  reserving  no  portion  of  his  time  for  the 
Indulgence  of  his  ease,  and  very  little  for  the  enjoyment 
•of  private  pleasure;  that  either  in  a  pficific  or  hostile 
manner,  he  had  visited  Genuany  nine  times,  ^Spain  ?\k 
times,  France  four  times,  Italy  seven  times,  the  J.ou- 
Countries  ten  times,  England  twice,  Africa  as  often,  and 
Bad  made  eleven  voyages  by  sea. 

10.  That  while  his  health  permitted  him  to  discharge 
«liis  duty,  and  the  vigour  of  his  constitutiini  was  equal  ]n 
any  degree,  to  the  arduous"  office  of  governing  domio- 
*ions  so  extensive,  he  had  never  shunned  labour,  nor  rc- 
ymed  under  fatigue;  that  now,  when  his  health  was  bro- 
Ken,  and  his  vigour  exhausted  by  the  rage  of  an  incnra- 
ble  distemper,  his  growing  infirmities  admonishod  him  to 
retire : 

11.  Nor  was  he  so  fond  of  reigning,  as  to  retain  thft. 
feceptre  in  an  impotent  hand,  whicii  was  no  longer  able 
to  protect  his  subjects,  or  to  render  them  hai)py  ;  thatin- 
Btead  of  a  sovereign  worn  out  with  diseases,  and  scarcely 
half  alive,  he  gave  them  one  in  the  prime  of  life,  accus- 
tomed already  to  govern,  and  who  added  to  the  vigour  of 
youth  all  the  attention  and  sagacity  of  maturer  years  : 

12.  That  if  during  the  course  of  a  long  administration, 
Jie  had  committed  any  material  error  in  government,  or 
If,  under  the  pressure  of  so  many  and  great  affairs,  and 
»imidst  the  attention  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  give  to 
^hem,  he  had  either  neglected  or  injured  any  of  his  sub* 
lects,  he  now  implored^  their  forgiveness  : 

15.  That  for  his  part  he  should  ever  retain  a  rrateful 
nense  of  their  fidelity  and  attachment,  and  would  carry 
the  remembrance  of  it  along  with  him  to  the  place  of 
his  retreat,  as  his  sweetest  consolation,  as  well  as  the  best 
reward  for  all  his  sf^rvices ;  and  in  h^s  last  prayers  to 
Almighty  God,  would  pour  forth  his  ardent  wisnes  for 
^eir  welfare. 

14.  Then  turnirg  towards  Philip,  who  fell  oh  hh  knccf 
T 


%i9  English  Reader.  rart  I. 

and  kisiTed  his  father's  hand,  "  If,"  says  he,  "  I  had  left 
you  by  my  deatli  this  rich  inheritance,  to  which  I  have 
made  guch  hirge  additions,  some  regard  Would  have  been 
lustly  due  to  my  memory  on  that  account;  but  now, 
when  1  voluntarily  resign  to  y^>u  what  1  might  have  still 
retained,  1  may  well  expect  tlie  warmest  expressions  of 
thanks  on  your  part. 

15.  *♦  With  these,  however,  1  dispense  ;p  and  shall  con- 
sider yoqr  concern  for  the  welfare  of  your  subjects,  and 
VouT  love  of  them,  as  tlie  best  and  most  acceptable  tes- 
timony of  your  gratitude  to  me.  It  is  in  your  power,  by 
A  wise  and  virtuous  administration,  to  justify  the  extra- 
ordinary proof  which  1  give  this  day  of  my  paternabaf- 
^tion,  and  to  demonstrate  that  you  are  wor^thy  of  the 
eonfidcHce  which  I  repose  in  you. 

16.  **  Preserve  an  inviolable'-  regard  for  religion  ;  main- 
fain  the  Catholic  faith  in  all  its  purity ;  let  the  laws  ot 
yonr  country  be  sacred  in  your  eyes  :  encroach  not  on 
wi'e  rrghts  ?^nd  privileges  of  your  people  ;  and  if  the  time 
»hall  ever  come,  when  you  shall  wish  to  enjoy  the  tran- 
quillity of  private  life,  may  you  have  a  son  endowed  with 
Buch  qualities,  that  you  can  resign  your  sceptre  to  him, 
with  as  much  satisfaction  as  1  give  up  mine  to  you." 

17.  As  soon  as  Charles  had  finished  this  long  address 
to  his  Bubjects,  and  to  their  new  sovereign,  he  sunk  into 
the  chair,  e^lviusted  and  ready  to  faint  with  the  fatigue 
of  so  extraordinary  an  elFort.  During  his  discourse,  the 
whole  audience  melted  into  tears  ;  some  from  admiration 
of  his  magnanimity  ;  others  softened  by  the  expressions 
of  tenderness  towards  his  son,  and  of  love  to  his  people ; 
?md  all  were  affected  with  the  deepest  so  row,  at  losing  a 
fKivereign,  who  had  distinguished  the  Netherlands,  hisna-» 

.  fire  country,  with  particular  marks  of  his  regard  and  at-t 
lachment. 

SECTION  XXVII, 


m  An-nw-ftl,  An'-n6-AI,   coming  yonrly, 

th»t  which  is  rockon«MJ  by  the  vear 

I  Do-lVay,  «U-fri',  to   bear  the  cimrges 


f  2.«-tf-btirgh,  r&'-h-bSrg,  the  nam«  of         Germany 


/  Dow-a-ger,  doi'-A-jSr,  a  widow  witk 
a  jointure  or  dowry 

g  Max-i-mU-i-an,TnAk8^A-m!r-i-&n, son- 
in-law  of  Charles  V.  Emperor  ol 


k  place 
4  Rot>-fl«;/-Toa8,  rln'-di-v8Ax,  to  mee* 

nt  a  ptaefl  ap(K>intod,  placo  appuint- 

cil  fo^  an  asasmbly 
0  ^T'  {v<h»f?h-e»5,  Krt8h-dfiU!h'-S«,  fheki 

4y  of  *n  3,re?filu|io 


h  Monaa-ter-y,  min'-i'.As-tir-ri,  houB« 
of  religious  retirement 

i  Tem-per-a-turo,  tSm'-pCi^A-liir©,  con- 
stitution of  nature,  due  balance  of 
contrflrvoties 

j  Dc  Hc-ious,  d«-n»h'-a9,«weet..de3^.tat« 


CffJOjK'^  Promiscuous  Pieces*  ffl> 


k  Ar-cW-«»ct,  lr'-k*-t?kt,  apfofepsorof 

the  art  of  buihiiiig 
I  A-eiiu?,4ki««',Bli«iri),  in^t-nipus,  keen 

subtle 


m  Grnn-deur,  griii'-Jflr,  state,  mofrnifi- 

c«Mice 
n  Dia-eii-tHH-jrle,  fl^s-Sn-t&n^'-gl,  lo  dim 

cngu^t;,  8»-4»araifi 


IVie  samt  suhject  contimted. 

1.  A  FEW  weeks  after  the  resijTBation  of  the  Nether- 
lands, Chailes,  in  an  assembly  no  less  pplendid  and  with 
a  ceremonial  e(|ually  p*'on)})ous,  resij^ned  to  his  son  the 
crowns  of  Spain,  with  all  the  terriiories  depending;  on 
them,  both  in  the  old  and  in  the  new  worltl.  Of  all  these 
vast  possessions,  he  reservad  nothinj;  i\)r  himself  but  an 
annual*  pension  of  a  hundred  thousjind  crowns,  to  cle« 
defray*  the  charges  of  his  family,  and  to  allbrd  him  a 
small  sum  for  acts  of  beneficence  and  charity. 

2.  Nothinjj;  now  remained  to  detain  him  from  that  re- 
treat for  which  he  lanj:;uished.     Every  thing  having  been 

Erepared  some  time  for  his  voyap;e,    he  set  out  for  Zuit- 
urgh<"  in  Zealand,  where  the  ileet  had  orders  to  rendez- 
vous.^ 

8.  In  his  way  thither,  he  passed  through  Ghent  :  and 
after  stopping  there  a  few  days,  to  indulge  that  tender 
and  pleasing  melancholy,  which  arises  in  the  mind  of  ev- 
ery man  in  the  decline  of  life,  '.ii  visiting  the  place  of 
his  nativity,  and  viewing  the  scenes  and  objects  larciliar 
to  him  in  his  early  youth,  he  pursued  his  journey,  ac- 
companied by  his  son  Philip,  his  daughter  the  arch-duch- 
ess,* his  sisters  the  dowager/ queens  of  I'Vance  and  Hun- 
gary, Maximilians:  his  son-in-law,  and  a  numerous  retinue 
of  the  Flemish  nobility. 

4.  Before  he  went  on  board,  he  dismissed  them,  with 
marks  of  his  attention  or  regard  ;  and  taking  leave  of 
Philip  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a  father  who  embraced 
his  son  for  the  last  time,  he  set  sail  under  a  convoy  of  a 
large  fleet  of  Spanish,  Flemish,  and  English  ships. 

5.  His  voyage  was  prosperous,  and  agreeable  ;  and  he 
arrived  at  Laredo  in  Biscay,  on  the  eleventh  day  after  h« 
left  Zealand.  As  soon  as  lie  landed,  he  fell  prostrate  on 
the  ground  ;  and  considering  himself  now  as  dead  to  the 
woria,  he  kissed  the  earth,  and  said,  **  Naked  came  1  out 
of  my  mother's  womb,  and  naked  1  now  return  to  thee, 
thou  common  mother  of  mankind." 

6.  From  Laredo  he  proceeded  to  Valladolid.  There 
he  took  a  last  and  tender  leave  of  his  two  sisters ;  whom 
he  would  not  permit  to  accompany  Kim  to  his  solitude, 
though  they  intreated  it  with  tears:  not  c.uly  that  tbey 


ftfiO  English  Reader*  Fart  t* 

mipiht  have  the  consolation  of  contributing,  Dy  their  at» 
tendance  and  care  to  mitigate  or  to  %ooth  his  sufferings, 
but  that  they  mi^ht  reap  instruction  and  benefit,  by  join- 
ing with  him  in  those  pious  exercises,  to  which  he  had 
consecrated  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

7.  From  Valladolid,  he  continued  his  journey  to  Pla- 
Kencia  in  histremadure.  He  had  passed  tdrojigh  that  city 
a  great  many  years  before ;  and  having  been  struck  at 
that  time  with  the  delightful  situation  of  the  monastery^ 
of  St.  Justus,  belonging  to  the  order  of  St.  Jerome,  not 
many  miles  distant  from  that  place,  he  had  then  observed 
to  some  of  his  attendants,  that  this  was  a  spot  to  which 
Dioclesian  might  have  retired  with  pleasure. 

8.  The  impression  had  remained  so  strong  on  his  mind, 
that  he  pitched  upon  it  as  the  place  of  his  retreat.  It 
was  seated  in  a  vale  of  no  great  extent,  watered  by  a  small 
brook,  and  surrounded  by  rising  grounds,  covered  with 
lofty  trees.  From  the  nature  of' the  soil,  as  well  as  the 
temperature''  of  the  climate,  it  was  esteemed  the  most 
healthful  and  delicious  situation  in  Spain. 

9.  Some  months  before  his  resignation  he  had  sent  an 
architect*  thither,  to  add  a  new  apartment  to  the  monas- 
tery, for  his  accommodation ;  but  he  gave  strict  orders 
that  the  style  of  the  building  should  be  such  as  suited  his 
present  station,  rather  than  his  former  dignity.  It  con- 
sisted only  of  six  rooms,  four  of  them  in  the  form  of  fri- 
ar's cells,  with  naked  walls  ;  the  other  two,  each  twenty 
feet  square,  vrere  hung  with  brown  fcloth,  and  furnished 
in  the  most  simple  manner. 

10.  They  were  all  on  a  level  with  the  ground;  with  a 
door  on  one  side  into  a  garden,  of  which  Charles  himself 
had  dven  the  plan,  and  had  filled  it  with  various  plants, 
which  he  proposed  to  cultivate  with  his  own  hands.  On 
the  other  side  they  communicated  with  the  chapel  of  the 
monastery,  in  which  he  w^as  to  perform  his  devotions. 

*^.  Into  this  humble  retreat,  hardly  sufficient  for  the 
ctiniiortaoie  accommodation  of  a  private  gentleman,  did 
Charles  enter  with  twelve  domestics  onJy.  He  buried 
there  in  solitude  and  silence,  his  grandeur,  his  anibition, 
*oeether  with  all  those  vast  projects,  which,  during  hall 

-^rtrtfui  V,  nad  alarmed  and  agitated  Europe  ;  filling  eve- 
wy'klngcfom  in  it,  by  turns,  with  the  terror  of  his  arms, 
and  the  dread  of  being  subjected  to  his  power. 

12.  In  this  retirement,  Charles  formed  such  a  plan  of 
Mftj  for  himsfclf,  as  would  have  suited  the  condition  of,  a 


\ 


raOMlStUbuS   PlBC£6.  CSi 


pnvato  person  of  a  moderato  fortune.  His  table  was 
^eat  but  plain  ;  his  domestics  fp.w  ;  his  intercourse  with 
them  familiar;  all  the  cumbersome  and  ceremoniou* 
forms  of  attendance  on  his  person  were  entirely  abolish- 
ed, as  destructive  of  that  social  ease  and  tranquillity, 
which  hi  courted,  in  order  to  sooth  the  remainder  of  his 
days. 

'is.  As  rne  mildnes-;  of  the  climate,  ♦ojjjether  wilh  his 
deliverance  from  the  burdens  and  car'^s  of  ^overnmenl, 
procured  him,  at  first,  a  considerable  j-emi'^sion  from  the 
acute'  pains  with  which  he  had  been  long  tormented,  he 
enjoyed,  perhaps,  more  complete  satisfaction  in  this  hum- 
ble solitude,  tiian  all  his  j];randeur«  hid  ever  yielded  him. 
14.  The  ambitious  thouj^hts  and  projects  which  h.'id  so 
lang  engrossed  and  discjuieted  him,  were  cjuite  eliaceiJ 
from  his  mind.  Far  from  taking  any  part  in  the  political 
transactions  of  the  princes  of  Euro|)e,  he  restramed  hiii 
curiosity  even  from  any  inquiry  concerning  them  ;  andh« 
seemed  to  view  the  busy  seene  which  he  had  abandoned, 
with  all  the  contempt  and  indiflVrence  arisinj^  from  his  tho- 
rough experience  of  its  vanity,  as  well  as  from  the  pleas- 
ing reflection  of  having  disentangled"  himself  from  iU 
caret.  i>r.  kobkiitsov. 

T  ^ 


PART  II. 


CHAl-TEll  1. 

SELECT    SENTEiNCES    AND    PARAGRAPHS. 

SECTION  I. 

SHORT  AND  EASY  SENTENCES. 

Education. 

Oralis  Edueation  forms  the  common  mind; 
JL    Just  as  th«  twig  is  Lent,  the  tree^s  inclined* 

Candour, 
With  pleasure  let  iis  own  our  errors  past ; 
And  make  each  day  a  critic  on  the  iapt. 

Reflect  ion. 
A  soul  -without  reflection,  like  a  pile 
Witaout  inhabitant,  to  ruin  runs. 
Secret  Virtue. 
The  private  path.  t!ie  secret  acts  of  man, 
If  noble,  far  the  noblest  of  their  lives. 

Nexessnry  knowledge  easily  attained. 
Our  needful  knov\leds;e,  like  our  needful  food, 
Unhedji^'d,  lies  open  in  life's  common  field : 
Ai<d  bids  all  welcome  to  the  vital  feast. 

JJisrjpjmntmejit. 
Disappointment  lurks  in  many  a  prize 
As  bees  in  tlovv'rs ;  avid  stings  us  witii  success. 

VirtiKms  elevation. 
The  mind  that  would  be  happy,  must  be  great, 
Great  in  its  wishes ;  great  in  its  sun'eys. 
Extended  views  a  narrow  mind  extend. 

t  Natural  and  fanciful  life . 

Who  lives  to  nature,  rarely  can  be  poor, 
Who  lives  to  ^ancy,  nevei*  can  be  rich. 

fio\j» — In  the  firtX  chapter,  tho  Com{viIcr  hnn  exhibitttd  a  <tof^«i^ab)« 
4(  pooticel  eo»»triiCtiun,  for  iho  ymm^  rofwiwr'a  proparatocy  Me7«iM 


Chap,  1.  isicLKcT  ISi:?«TK.'Hck8,  &Ci  Mi 

In  fai(h  and  hope  tlic  world  will  disagree ; 
But  ail  mankind's  concern  is  charity. 

The  prize  of  virtue* 
What  nothing  earthly  gives,  or  can  dcstrojr. 
The  souFs  calm  sunshine,  and  the  heart-felt  joj^ 
Is  virtue's  prize. 

Serise  tind  modesty  connected, 
Pistrustful  sense  with  modest  cavktion  speaks  j       > 
It  still  looks  home,  and  short  excursions  makes  ;> 
But  rattling  nonsense  in  full  volleys  breaks.  j| 

Moral  discipline  salutary. 
Heaven  gives  us  friends  to  bless  the  present  scen<i  s 
Resumes  them  to  prepare  us  for  the  nett« 
All  evils  natural  are  moral  goods  ; 
All  discipline,  indulgence  on  thd  whole* 

Present  blessings  undervalued* 
Like  birds,  whose  Ifeauties  languish,  half  concfiard, 
Till,  mounted  on  the  wing,  their  glossy  plumes 
Expanded  shine  with  azure,  green,  antf  ^oldj 
How  blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their  flighti 

Hope, 
Hope,  of  all  passions  most  befriends  us  here ; 
Passions  of  prouder  name  befriend  us  less. 
Joy  has  her  tears,  and  transport  has  her  de»t& : 
Hope  like  a  cordial,  innocent,  though  strong, 
Man's  heart,  at  once,  inspirits  aifid  serenes:. 
Happiness  inode^t  and  tranquil,, 

'^ Never  man  was  truly  blest, 

But  it  composed,  and  gave  him  such  a  caat 
As  folly  might  mistake  for  want  of  joy ;, 
And  cast  unlike  the  triumpli  of  the  proud  j 
A  modest  aspect,  and  a  smile  at  heart. 

True  greatness. 
Who  noble  ends,  by  noble  means  obtains, 
Or  faihng,  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains. 
Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign,  or  bleed 
Lik-s  Socrates  that  man  is  great  indeed- 

The  tear  of  sympathy. 
No  radiant  pear),  which  crested  fortune  weaiBi 
1^0  gem,  that  twinkling  ban^s  from  beauty's tkl^ 


m  Enolisii  IIkadek.  Pari  A. 

Nor  the  bright  stars,  which  nip;ht's  blue  arch  adorn. 
Nor  rising  suns  that  gild  the  vernal  morn, 
Shine  with  such  lustre,  as  the  tear  that  breaks, 
For  others'*  wo,  down  virtue's  manly  cheeks. 
SECTION  II. 

r ERSES  IN  WHICH  THE  LINES  ARE  OP  DIFFERENT  l,ENGTIl  / 

Blm  of  celestial  origin* 
Restless  mortals  toil  for  nought ; 
i31issin  vain  from  earth  is  sought; 
Bliss,  a  native  of  the  sky, 
Never  wanders.     Mortals^  try  ; 
There  you  cannot  seek  in  vain  ; 
For  to  seek  her  is  to  ^in. 

The  passions. 
The  passions  are  a  num'rous  crowd. 
Imperious,  positive,  and  loud. 
Curb  these  licentious  sons  of  strife  ; 
Hence  chiefly  rise  the  storms  of  hfe  : 
U  they  grow  mutinous,  and  rave, 
They  are  thy  masters,  thou  their  slavj^. 

Trust  in  Providence  recommended 
•Tis  Providence  alone  secures, 
In  ev*ry  change,  both  mine  and  yours. 
Safety  consists  not  in  escape 
From  dangers  of  a  frightful  shape  ; 
An  earthquake  may  be  bid  to  spare 
The  man  that's  strangled  by  a  hair. 
Fate  steals  along  with  silent  tread, 
Found  oft'nest  in  what  least  we  dread  ; 
Frowns  in  the  storm  w^ith  angry  brow, 
Uut  in  the  sunshine  strikes  the  blow. 

Epitaph.  ,         ■ 

How  lov'd,  how  valuM  Once,  avails  thee  not, 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot : 
A  heap  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee ; 
'Tis  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall  be. 

Fame, 
All  fame  is  foreign,  but  of  true  desert ; 
Plays  round  the  nead,  but  comes  not  to  the  hear^. 
One  self-approving  hour,  whole  years  outweighs 
Of  stupid  starers,  and  of  loud  huzzas  ; 
And  liiore  true  joy  Marcellus  exil'd  feels. 
Than  Ccesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels 


C^tap.  1.  Select  Sentenced,  &:e.  ttft 

Virttts  the  guardian  of  youth* 
Down  the  smooth  stream  of  life  the  stripllnc  dartjv 
Gay  as  the  morn  :  bright  {i;!ows  the  vernal  sky 
Hope  swells  his  sails,  and  Passion  steers  his  coura^i^ 
Sate  glides  his    little  bark  along  the  shore, 
Where  Virtue  takes  her  stand  :  but  if  too  far 
He  launches  forth  beyond  discretion's  mark, 
Sudden  the  teni})est  scowls,  the  surges  roar 
Blot  his  fair  day  and  plunge  him  in  the  deep. 

Sunrise, 
But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  king  of  day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  less'ning  cloud, 
The  kindling  a/.ure,  and  the  mountain's  brow, 
lllum'd  with  iluid  gold,  his  near  approach 
Betoken  glad.     Lo,  now  apparent  all 
Aslant  the  dew-bright  earth,  and  colour'd  air, 
He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad  ; 
And  sheds  the  ehining  day,  that  burnish'd  plays 
On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  tow'rs,  and  wand'nng  streamy 
High  gleaming  from  afar. 

StiJ-govtfnment, 
May  1  govern  my  passions  with  absolute  s>\5f 
And  grow  wiser  and  better  as  life- wears  awa^ 

Shepherd, 
On  a  mountain,  strctch'd  beneath  a  hoary  wilVow, 
Lay  a  shepherd  swain,  and  view'd  the  rolling  billow. 

SECTION  HI. 

VERSES  CONTAINING  EXCLARTATIONS,  INTERQGAT10N8.  AND 
PARENTHESIS. 

Competence, 
A  competence  is  all  we  can  enjoy ; 
Oh  !  be  content,  where  Heaven  can  give  no  more ; 

Reflection  essential  to  Jiappiness, 
Much  joy  not  only  speaks  small  happiness, 
But  happiness  that  shortly  must  expire. 
Can  joy  unbottom'd  in  reflection,  stand  ? 
And.*  in  a  tempest,  can  reflection  live  ? 

Frundship, 
Can  gold  gain  friendship  ?  Impudence  of  hope  * 
As  well  mere  man  an  aogel  might  beget. 
Love,  and  k)ve  only,  is  tke  loan  for  love. 


f!S6  ^Nofcisn  Header;.  Pari  f 

Lothjozo  r  pride  repress ;  nor  hope  to  fi^ncf 
A  friend^.  Hut  what  ha*  found  a  friend  Fn  the«,, 
All  like  thft  purchase;  few  the  price  wi^P  pay  j 
And  this  rna4es  frieiids  such  miracles  befow^ 

Patience. 
Beware  of/ desp'rate  steps.     The  dankest  daj 
(Lire  till  to-morrow);  will  have  pass'daway.. 

Lurury, 

• O  luxury  ! 

Bane  of  elated  Ufe,- of  allluent  states^ 
What  dreary  chanj^e,  what  ruin  is  not  thine  f 
How  doth  thy  hoAvl  intoxicate  the  mind! 
To  the  soft  entrance  of  thy  rosy  cave, 
How  dost  thou  hu'e  the  fortunate  andgrea^;! 
Dreadful  attniction  I 

Virtuous  activity, 

JSeize,  mortals  !  seize  the  transient  hour;; 
Improve  each  moment  as  it  fiies  : 
Life's  a  short  summer — man  aflow'r;" 
He  -dies — Alas  ! — how  soon  he  dies  ! 

The  sxmrce  of  happiness^. 
Reason's  whole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of  sensft. 
Lie  in  three  v/ords,  health,  peace,  and  competenc»'U 
But  health  consists  wi^h  temperance  alone; 
And  peace»  O  virtue !  Peace  is  all  thy  own. 

Placid  emotion. 
Who  can  forbear  to  smile  with  nature  ?.  Can 
The  stormy  passions  in  the  bosom  rolli 
While  ev'rv  gale  is  peace,  and  ev'ry  grovo 
Is  melody  f 

SalUude.* 
O  sacred  solitude  ;  divine  retreat ! 
Choice  of  the  prudent !  envy  of  the  great.' 
By  thy  pure  stream,  or  in  thy  waving  shade, 
W^court  fair  wisdom,  that  celestial  maid  : 
Tiic  genuine  offspring  of  her  lov'd  embrace^ 
TStrangers  on  earth,)  are  innocence  and  peace, 
There  from  the  ways  of  men  laid  safe  ashore, 
We  smile  to  hear  the  distant  tempest  roar ; 
There  bless'd  with  health,  with  bus'hess  u:)perpIex*(L 
This  life  we  relish,  and  ensure  the  next. 

.  *Bv  solitude  hcfe  is  rnoant,  a  temi>6T^Tj  Bedumoot  ftiva  tJM  vwrU. 


Chap,  i.  Select  Sentences,  Sic.  foafi 

Presume  not  on  to-momno* 
In  human  hf  arts  what  bolder  thoughts  can  rise, 
Than  man's  presumption  on  to-morrow*«  daws  • 
'     X'f^here  is  to-morrow  ?  In  another  world, 
For  numbers  this  is  certain ;  the  reverae 
Is  sure  to  none. 

Dum  vivimus  vivamus. 
Whilst  we  live  let  zts  live, 
"Live  while  you  live,"  the  epicure  woirM  stcf^ 
'*  And  seize  the  pleasures  of  the  present  day.** 
•*Live,  while  you  live/*  the  sacred  preacher  cries'^ 
•*  And  give  to  God  each  moment  as  it  fliies.** 
Lord  I  m  my  views,  let  both  united bfe  ; 
1  live  in  pleasure,  when  I  live  to  thee !     doddridos* 

SECTION  IV. 
VERSES  IN  VARIOUS  F6RMS. 
The  security  of  Virtm. 
Let  coward  guilt,  with  pallid  fear, 

To  sheltVing  caverns  fly. 
And  justly  dread  the  vengeful  ftite, 
That  thunders  through  the  sky. 
Protected  by  that  hand,  whose  law,  ^' 

The  threat'ning  storms  obey,  ^ 

Intrepid  virtue  smiles  secure, 
As  in  the  blaze  of  day. 

ResignatHon, 
And  O  I  by  error's  force  subdu'd,- 

Since  oft  my  stubborn  will 
Preposterous  shuns  the  latent  good, 

And  grasps  the  specious  ill. 
Not  to  my  wish,  but  to  my  want, 

Do  thou  thy  gifts  apply  ; 
Unask'd,  what  good  tnou  kn o west  grant ; 
What  ill,  though  ask'd,  deny. 
ComjKtssion. 
1  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair; 

I  have  found  where  the  wood  pi^eciifi  tireedi 
But  let  me  that  plunder  forbear  ! 

She  will' say,  'tis  a  barbarous  deed. 
For  he  ne'er  can  be  true,  she  avprr'd. 
Who  can  rob  a  poor  bird  of  its  yoiwg  v 


1 

£8  £f«oLisu  Readea.  Pari  £. 

And  1  lov'd  her  the  more  when  I  heard 

Such  tenderness  fall  from  her  tongue. 
Epitqjjh. 
Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth, 

A  youth  to  fortune  ardto  fcime  unknown  ; 
Fair  science  frovva'd  not  on  his  humble  birth, 

And  melancholy  marl«id  him  for  her  own. 
Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 

Heaven  did  a  recompence  as  largely  send; 
He  gave  to  misery  all  he  had — a  tear  ; 

He  gain'd  from  Heav'n,  ('twas  all  he  wishM)  a IrieniL 
No /further  seek  his  merits  to  disclo^-e,     . 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  reuose,) 

The  bosom  of  his  father  and  his  Goa. 
Joy  wul  sorrot»  connected, 
StiU,  where  rosy  pleasure  leads, 
See  a  kindred  grief  pursue  ; 
Behind  the  steps  that  mis'ry  treadu, 
Approaching  comforts  view. 
Tne  hues  of  bliss  mare  brightly  glow, 
ChftstisM  by  sable  tints  of  wo  ; 
And  blended  form,  with  artful  strife, 
The  strength  and  harmony  of  life. 
•  The  goldemnean. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean, 
And  lives  contentedly  between 

The  little  and  the  great, 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor. 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door^ 

Imbitt'rin^  all  his  state. 
The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  pow'p 
Of  wint'ry  blast ;  the  loftiest  tow'r 

Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground. 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  side. 
His  cloud-cap  eminence  divide ; 

And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

Modtrate  views  and  aims  recommended. 
With  passions  unrullled,  untainted  with  pride. 

By  reason  my  life  let  me  square ; 
The  wants  of  my  nature  are  cheaply  supplied ; 

And  the  rest  are  but  folly  and  care. 
JJow  vainly,  through  infinite  trouble  ^nd  Strife, 

The  many  their  labours  employ  I . 


CJ^ap'  t*  Select  Sentences,  &€•  S2§ 

Since  all  that  is  truly  delightfu}  in  life. 

Is  what  all,  if  they  please,  njay  enjoy. 
Attachvient  to  life. 

The  tree  of  deepest  root  is  found 

Least  willing  still  to  quit  the  ground  ; 
*Twas  therefore  sajd,  hy  ancient  sages, 
That  love  of  life  incraas'd  with  years, 

ISo  much,  that  in  our  latter  stages, 

When  pains  gro.w  sharp,  and  sickness  r^gcs« 
"Tlie  greatest  love  of  life  appears. 

Virtue's  address  to  pleasure  • 
Vast  happiness  enjoy  thy  gay  alhes  I 

A  youtii  of  follies,  an  old  age  of  cares 
Young  yet  enervate,  old  yet  never  wise, 

Vice  wastes  their  vigour,  and  their  mirvd  impairs* 
Vain,  idle,  delicate,  in  thoughtjess  ease. 

Reserving  woes  for  age,  their  prime  they  spend  ; 
All  wretched,  hopeless  m  the -evil  days, 

With  sorrow  to  the  verge  of  life  they  tend.         • 
<jiriev'd  with  the  present,  of  the  past  asham'd, 

They  live  and  are  despis'd ;  they  die,  no  more  ar# 
namM. 

SECTION  V. 

VERSES  IN  WHICH  SOUND  CORRESPONDS  TO  SIGNIFICATIOIl 
Smooth  and  rovgh  verst. 

Soft  is  the  strain  when  zephyr  gently  blows, 

And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows. 

But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 

The  hoarse  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 

Slotv  motion  imitated* 
,When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  va&t  weight  to  throw, 

The  line  too  labours,  and  the  words  move  alow. 
Swift  and  easy  motion. 

Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain. 

Flies  o'er  th'  unbending  corn,  and  skims  alopg  the  main* 
'  Felling  trees  in  a  wood. 

Loud  sounds  the  axe,  redoubling  strokes  on  strokes ; 

On  all  sides  roimd  the  forest  hurls  her  oafc* 

*  Sjfinsaal  Pleasure. 

u 


$S0  JBlfOLlSH  ABADtlt.  Art  %4 

Headlong*    Deep  echoing  groan  the  thickets  Irfown^ 
iThen  rustling,  crackling,  crasliing,  thunder  dowo, 
Sound  of  a  bowstring* 

m     ,     .....i ; -« The  string  let  fly  * 

Twang'd  short  and  sharp,  like  the  shrill  swallows  cry. 

The  Pheasant, 
See  from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  spthlgs*^ 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumpnant  wings. 

Scylla  and  Charybdis* 
Dire  Scylla  there  a  scene  of  horror  forms, 
And  here  Chary bdis  fills  the  deep  with  storms.- 
When  the  tide  rushes  from  her  rumbling  cave^. 
The  rough  rock  roars  ;  tumultuous  bo-il  the  waves. 

Boisterous  and  gentle  sounds. 
Two  craggy  rocks  projecting  to  the  main, 
The  roaring  winds  tempestuous  rage  restrain : 
Within,  the  waves  in  softer  niurmurs  glide  ;• 
And  ships  secure  without  their  halsers  ride. 
Laljorious  and  impetuous  motion* 
With  many  a  weary  step,  and  many  a  ^roan, 
Up  the  higli  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  rouna  stone ; 
Tne  huge  round  stone  resulting  with  a  bound, 
Thunders  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  ground. 

Regular  and  slow  movement. 
First  march  the  heavy  mules  securely  slow ; 
"D'er  hills,  o'er  dales,  o*er  crags,  o'er  rocks  they  ^o. 

Motion  slow  and  difficult, 
A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 
That  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  &)oDg« 

A  rock  torn  from  the  braw  of  a  mountain. 
Still  gathering  force,  it  smokes,  and  urg'd  amain, 
Whirls,  leaps,  and  thunders  down,  impetuous  to  the  plaltt. 

Extent  and  violence  of  the  waves. 
The  waves  behind  impel  the  waves  before, 
Wide  rolling,  foaming  high,  and  tumbling  to  the  shore* 

Pensive  numbers. 
In  these  deep  solitudes  anjl  awful  cells, 
Where  heavenly  pensiv^e  contempl^on  dwelk^- 
And  eVer-musing  melancholy  reigns. 


fJJtop^  h  Select  Se.^tkkcm,  t*c^^  §(0 

Battle, 
-Arms  on  armour  rlashlng  bray*d 


Horrible  discoi-d;  and  the  maddiug  >vheela 
Of  brazen  fury  rag'd. 

Sound  imitatkif^  rduttance. 
For  who,  to  dumb  forgetful ness  a  prey, 

This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resignM  ; 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerfiu  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'rrng  look  behind  I 
SECTION  VL 

PARAGRAPHS  OF  GRt]ATER  LENGTH. 

Commbixil  affecdon. 
The  love  that  cheers  life's^  latest  sta^e^ 
Froof  against  sickness  and  old  age, 
Preserv'd  by  virtue  frmn  declonsion,- 
Becomes  not  weary  of  attention  ; 
But  lives,  when  that  exterior  grace, 
Which  first  inspired  the  flame,  deeay^ 
•Tis  gentle,  delicate,  and  kind, 
To  faults  compassionate,  or  blind  ; 
And  will  with  sympathy  endure 
Those  evils  it  would  gladly  cure. 
But  angry,  coarse,  and  hapsh  expi^ession^ 
Shows  love  to  be  a  mere  profefision ; 
Proves  that  the  heart  is  none  of  his, 
*)r  soon  expels  him  if  it  is. 

Swaiins  of  flying  insects 
Thick  in  yon  stream  of  light  a  thoufand  ways, 
Upward  and  downward,  thwarting  and  convoW^ 
Tne  quiv'ring  nations  sport ;  till  tempest-wing'd. 
Fierce  winter  sweeps  them  from  the  face  of  day 
Ev'n  so,  luxurions  men,  unheeding,  pass 
An  idle  summer  Hfe,  in  fortune's  shine, 
A  season's  ghtter !  Thus  they  flutter  on, 
From  toy  to  toy,,  from  vanity  to  vice  : 
Till,  blown  away  by  death,  oblivion  (^mes 
Behind,  and  strikes  them  from  the  book  of  lii^ 

BeneficeiKt  its  own'  reward* 
My  fortune  (for  I'll  mention  hII^ 
And  more  than  you  dare  teliyis  small ; 
Yet  ev'ry  friendi  partakes  my  store, 
A-nd  wont  ftous^  smiling  from  my  doo^* 


Ekolish  reader.  Part  t» 

WW  forty  shillings  warm  the  breast 
Of  worth  or  industry  distressed! 
This  sum  I  cheerfully  impart  ; 
•Tis  fourscore  pleasures  to  my  heart : 
And  jou  may  make,  by  means  like  these, 
Five  talents  ten,  whenever  you  please. 
'Tis^rue,  my  little  purse  grows  light; 
hut  then  1  ^eep  so  sweet  at  night ! 
This  grand  specific  will  prevail, 
When  all  the  doctor's  opiates  fail. 

Virtue  the  best  treasure. 

Virtue,  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  soul, 
Is  the  best  gift  qi  Heav'n  :  a  happiness 
That,  even  above  the  smiles  and  frowns  of  fate, 
Exalts  great  nature's  favourites  :  a  wealth 
That  ne*er  encumbers  ;  nor  to  baser  hands 
Can  be  transferr'd. .  It  is  the  only  good 
Man  justly  boasts  of,  or  cait;i  call  nis  own. 
Riches  are  oft  by  guilt  and  baseness  earned. 
But  for  one  end,  one  much-neglected  use. 
Are  riches  Worth  our  care  ;  (for  nature's  wants 
Are  few,  and  without  opulence  supplied ;) 
This  noble  end  is  to  produce  the  soul ; 
To  show  the  virtues  in  their  fairest  hght ; 
And  make  humapity  the  minister 
Of  bounteous  Provfdence. 

Contemplationi 

As  yet  *tis  ipidni^ht  deep.     The  weary  clouds, 
Slow  meetij?c,  mmgle  into  soUd  gloom. 
Now,  while  the  drowsy  world  lies  lost  in  sleep. 
Let  me  associate  with  the  serious  night, 
And  conteipplation  her  sedate  compeer ; 
Let  me  shake  off  th'  intrusive  cares  of  day. 
And  lay  the  meddling  senses  all  aside. 

Where  now,  ye  lying  vanities  of  life ! 
Ye  ever  tempting,  ever  cheating  train ! 
Where  are  you  now  ?  and  what  is  your  amount ! 
Vexation,  disappointment,  and  remorse. 
8ad,  sick'ning  thought !  And  jet,  deluded  man, 
A  scene  of  crude  disjointed  visions  past, 
And  broken  slumbers,  rises  still  resolv'd. 
With  ne»r  flushed  hopes,  to  run  the  giddy  round. 


Chap,  d  Nakratiyk  Pi£C£ft«  90^ 

Pleasure  of  piety. 
A  Deity  beliey^d;  is  joy  begun  ; 
A  Deity  ador'd,  is  joy  advanc'd, 
A  Deity  beluv'd,  is  juy  matur'd  ; 
Each  branch  of  piety  deliglit  inspires  : 
Faitli  builds  a  bridge  froni  this  world  to  the  next» 
O'er  death's  dark  gulf,  and  ail  its  horror  hides; 
|*raise,  the  sweet  exhalation  of  our  joy, 
That  joy  exalts,  and  makes  it  sweeter  still ; 
Pray'r  ardent  opens  heav'n,  iets  down  a  stream] 
or  glory,  on  the  consecrated  hour 
Of  man  in  audience  with  the  Deity. 

CHAPTER  IJ. 

SECTION  I. 

The  bears  and  the  Lees. 
1.  As  two  young  bears,  in  wanton  moo/i, 

Forth  issuing  from  a  neighbouring  wood. 

Came  where  the  industrious  bees  had  btor*d. 

In  artful  cells,  their  luscious  hoard  ; 

O'erjoy'd  they  seiz'd,  with  eager  haste, 

Luxiirfous  on  the  rich  repast. 

Alarm'd  at  this  the  little  crew 

About  their  ears  vindictive  flew. 
SI,  The  beasts,  un-able  to  sustain 

Th'  unequal  combat,  quit  the  plain; 

Half  blind  with  rage,  and  mad  with  pajin* 

Their  native  shelter  they  regain  ; 

There  sit,  and  now,  discreeter  grown. 

Too  late  their  rashness  they  bemoan ; 

And  this  by  dear  experience  gain, 

That  pleasure's  ever  bought  with  pais. 
•S.  So  when  the  gilded  baits  of  vice 

Are  placM  before  our  longing  eyes, 

With  greedy  haste  we  snatch  our  fill. 

And  swallow  down  the  latent  ill : 

liut  when  experience  ope3  our  e/es, 

Away  the  fancied  pJeasurc  fli'js. 

It  flies,  but  3h  .  too  late  we  find. 

It  U>aT€8  a  real  sting  behind.  iixiiUISKa. 

U  & 


i^  English  UKAUKii  uri  l!, 

SECTION  IL 

i^f^e  nightingale  and  the  gLfw-tDorm, 
.     t.  A  jriGHTiNGALE,  that  all  day  long  - 

Had  cheer'd  the  village  Avith  his  song,      ' 
Not*  yet  at  eve  his  note  suspended, 
Not  yet  when  eventide  was  ended, 
Began  to  feel,  as  well  he  mij^ht, 
The  keen  demands  of  appetite  ; 
When,  looking  eagerly  around, 
He  spied  far  off,  upon  the  ground,- 
A  something  shining  in  the  dark. 
And  knew  the  glow-worm  by  his  spark* 
So,  stooping  down  from  hawthorn  top, 
He  thought  to  put  him  in  his  crop, 
t.  The  worm  aware  of  his  intent. 

Harangued  him  thus,  right  eloquent — 

*  Did  you  admire  my  lamp,'  quoth  he, 

*  As  much  as  1  your  minstrelsy, 
You  would  abhor  to  do  me  wrong, 
As  much  as  1  to  spoil  your  son^ ; 
For  'twas  the  self-same  pow'r  divine, 
Taught  you  to  sing,  and  me  to  shine ; 
That  you  with  music,  I  with  lijjht. 
Might  beautify  and  cheer  the  night.' 

S.  The  songster  heard  his  short  oration, 

And,  warbling  out  his  approbation, 

Releas'd  him,  as  my  story  tells, 

And  found  a  supper  somewhere  else. 

Hence,  jarring  sectaries  may  learn 

Their  real  int'rest  to  discern  ; 

Thit  brother  should  not  war  with  brother 

And  worry  and  devour  each  other  : 

But  sin j;  and  shine  by  sweet  consent. 

Till  life's  poor  transient  night  is  spent ; 

Respecting,  in  each  other's  case, 

The  gifts  of  nature  and  of  grace. 
4«  Those  Christians  best  deserve  the  name, 

Who  studiously  make  peace  their  aim : 

Peace,  both  the  duty  and  ^he  prize 

Of  him  that  creeps,  and  him  that  flies.         cowrwi 
SECT[ON  m. 
r/ie  trials  of  virtue. 
V  Plac'd  on  the  verge  of  youth,  my  infodl 
Life's  op'Ding  scene  surrey'd  : 


hip*  IL  Narrative  Pii[fc£8.  ii( 

I     1  vlew'd  Its  ills  of  various  kind, 
I         Afflicted  and  afraid. 
1 1.  But  chief  my  fear  tlie  dangers  mor'd. 
That  virtue's  path  enclose  : 
My  heart  the  wise  pursuit  approv'd  ; 
but  O,  what  toils  oppose  ! 
8.  For  see,  ah  see  !  while  yet  her  ways 
With  doubtful  step  I  tread, 
A  hostile  world  its  terrors  raise, 
Its  snares  delusive  spread. 
" .  O  how  shall  1,  with  heart  prepared, 
Those  terrors  learn  to  meet  ? 
How,  from  the  thousand  snares  to  guard 

My  unexperienc'd  feet  ?  , 

5.  As  thus  1  inusM,  oppressive  sleep  ^'\ 

Soft  o'er  my  temples  drew 
Oblivion's  veil. — The  wat'ry  deep, 

An  object  strange  and  n»w.  \ 

C.  Before  me  rose  :  on  the  wide  shore  ,j 

Observant  as  I  stood,  :.' 

The  gathering  storms  around  me  roar,  ; 

And  heave  the  boiling  flood.  f 

7.  Near,  and  more  near  the  billows  rise  ;  .<i^ 

Even  now  my  steps  they  lave; 
And  death  to  my  affrightea  eyes 

Approached  in  ev'ry  wave.  \ 

8.  What  hope,  or  whither  to  retreat  J 

Each  nerve  at  once  unstrung  ; 
Chill  fear  had  fetter'd  fast  my  feet, 

And  chain'd  my  speechless  tongue. 
9-  1  felt  my  heart  within  me  die  ;  ^ 

When  sudden  to  mine  ear 
A  voice,  descending;  from  on  high, 

Reprov'd  my  erring  fear. 

10.  **  What  tho'  the  swelling  surge  thou  8e# 

Impatient  to  devour ; 
Rest,  mortffi,  rest  on  God's  decree, 
And  thankful  own  his  pow'r. 

11.  "  Know,  when  he  bade  che  deep  appear* 

Thus  far,'  th'  Almighty  said, 
•  Thus  far,  no  farther,  rage ;  and  h«}i^ 
*  1a^  thy  proud  wavcjj  oe  stayed.** 


FarM 


|t  EfTOLiSU  U£AD£R. 

1ft.  I  beard  ;  and  lo !  at  once  controird* 
The  waves  in  wild  retreat, 
Back  on  themselves  reluctant  roll'd, 
And  murm'ring  left  my  feet. 
15.  Deeps  to  assembling  det^ps  in  vain 
Once  more  the  signal  gave : 
The  shores  thr  rushing  weight  sustain, 
And  check  the  usurping  wave. 

14.  Convinc'd,  in  nature's  volume  wise, 

The  imag'd  truth  I  read  ; 
And  sudden  from  my  waking  eyes 
The  instructive  vision  fled. 

15.  Then  why  thus  heavy,  O  my  soul ! 

Say  why,  distrustful  still, 
Thy  thoughts  with  vain  impatience  roll 

O'er  scenes  of  future  ill  ? 
.  Let  faith  suppress  each  rising  fear, 

Each  anxious  doubt  exclude  : 
Thy  Maker's  will  has  plac'd  thee  here, 

A  maker  wise  and  good ! 
17.  He  to  thy  ev'ry  trial  knows 

Its  just  restraint  to  give  ; 
Attentive  to  behold  thy  woes, 

And  faithful  to  relieve. 
IS.  Then  why  thus  heavy,  O  my  soul ' 

Say  why,  distrustful  still, 
*rhy  thoughts  with  vain  impatience  roll 

O'er  scenes  of  future  ill  / 
19.  Tho'  griefs  unnumber'd  throng  thee  round, 

Still  m  thy  God  confide, 
Whose  hnzer  marks  the  seas  their  bound. 

And  euros  the  head  long  tide.  mere  ck« 

i^ECTION  IV. 

The  youth  and  the  philosopher. 
1.  A  Grecian  youth  of  talents  rare, 
Whom  Plato's  philosophic  care 
Had  form'd  for  virtue's  nobler  view,  , . 
By  precept  and  example  too, 
Would  often  boast  his  matchless  skill. 
To  curb  the  steed,  and  guide  the  wheel ; 
And  as  he  pass'd  the  gasjing  throng,  ^ 

WUh  graced)  ease,  and  amack*d  the  tbcMS^i 


jf,  d.  Narrative  Pieces.  fiS 

The  ideot  wonder  they  expressed. 

Was  nraise  and  transport  to  his  breast. 
.     At  length,  miite  vain,  he  needs  would  show 

His  master  what  his  art  could  do ; 

And  bade  his  slaves  the  chariot  lead 

To  Academus'  sacred  shade. 

The  trembling  grove  confess'd  its  fright, 

The  wood-nymphs  started  at  the  sight ; 

The  muses  d.rop  the  learned  lyre, 

And  to  their  inmost  shades  retire. 
.  llowe'er  the  youth  with  forward  air ; 

liows  to  the  sage  and  mounts  the  car. 

The  lash  resounds,  the  coarserS  spring, 

The  chariot  marks  the  rollinf^  ring  ; 

And  gath'ring  crowds,  with  eagt^r  eye^, 

And  shouts,  pursue  him  as  he  ilies. 
.     Triumphant  to  the  goal  return'd, 

With  nooler  thirst  his  bosom  burn'd ; 

And  now  along  th'  indented  plain 

The  self-same  track  he  marks  again, 

Pursues  with  care  the  nice  design, 

Nor  ever  deviates  from  the  line. 

Amazei^icnt  seiz/d  the  circling  crowd ; 

The  youths  with  emulation  glow'd  ; 

Ev'n  bearded  sages  hail'd  the  boy ; 

And  all  but  Plato  gaz'd  with  joy. 
>.  For,  he  deep-judging  sage,  beheld 

With  pain  the  triumphs  of  the  field  ; 

And  when  the  charioteer  drew  nigh, 

And,  flush'd  with  hope,  had  caught  his  eye, 

♦*  Alas!  unhappy  youth,"  he  cry'd, 

**  Expect  no  praise  from  me,"  (and  sigh'd*) 
1.  "  With  indignation  I  survey 

Such  skill  and  judgment  thrown  away  : 

The  time  profusely  squandered  there» 

On  vulgar  arts  beneath  thy  care, 

If  well  employ'd,  at  less  expense. 

Had  taught  thee  honour,  virtue,  sense  ; 

And  rais'd  thee  from  a  coachman's  fate 

To  govern  men  and  guide  the  state."       whitehead 
SECTION  V. 

Discourse  between  Adam  and  Eve^  retiring  io  rest* 
.Now  came  still  ev'ning  on,  and  twilight  gray 

Had  in  her  sober  liv'ry  all  things  claa, 


Si  English  Reader.  PUfll 

8!l«noe  acoompanied  ;  for  beast  and  bird, 
They  to  their  srassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests 
Were  sUmk ;  all  buf;  the  wakeful  nijj;htingale. 
She  ali  night  long  her  am'rous  descant  sung: 
Silence  was  pleas'd.     Now  glow'd  the  firmament'! 
With  living  sapphires  :  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  moon, 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length, 
Apparent  queen  unveil'd  her  peerless  light, 
And  o*er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 

t*     When  Adam  thus  to  Eve  :  "  Fair  consort,  th' h( 
Of  night,  and  all  things  now  retlr'd  to  rest, 
Mind  us  of  like  repose ;  since  God  hath  set 
Labour  and  rest,  as  day  and  night,  to  men 
Successive ;  and  the  timely  dew  of  sleep. 
Now  falling  with  soft  slumbrous  weight,  incline* 
Our  eye-lids.     Other  creatures  all  day  long 
Rove  idle  unemploy'd,  and  less  need  rest : 
Man  hath  his  daily  wo4*k  of  body  or  mind 
Appointed,  which  declares  his  d,ignity. 
And  the  regard  of  Heav'n  on  all  his  ways ; 
While  other  animals  unactive  range, 
And  of  their  doings  God  takes  no  account. 

8.  To-morrow,  ere  fi-esh  morning  streak  the  east 
With  first  approach  of  light,  we  must  be  risen, 
And  at  our  pleasant  labour  ;  to  reform 
Yon  flow'ry  arbours,  yonder  alleys  green,  i 

Our  walk  at  noon,  with  branches  overgrown,        1 
That  mock  our  scant  manuring,  and  require 
More  hands  than  ours  to  lop  their  wanton  growth. 
Those  blossoms  also,  and  tliose  dropping  g,ums 
That  lie  bestrown,  unsightly  and  unsmootn. 
Ask  riddance,  if  we  mean  to  tread  Avith  case. 
Mean  while,  as  nature  wills,  night  bids  us  rest." 

4.     To  whom  thus  Eve,  with  perfect  beauty  adorn'c 
"  My  author  and  disposer,  what  thou  bidst 
Unargu'd  1  6hey ;  so  God  ordains. 
With  thee  conversing  1  forget  all  time ; 
AH  seasons  and  their  change,  all  please  alike. 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet. 
With  charm  of  earhest  birds  ;  pleasant  the  sun 
When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flow'r 
Glist'ring  with  dew  :  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
Afttr  tan  show'rs;  and  sweet  the  cowiing  en 


Otuqt.  S.  Narrative  Pieces.  $^ 

Of  gratefui  evening  mild  ;  then  silent  night. 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  nioon« 
And  these  the  gems  of  heav'n,  her  starry  train; 

5.  But  neither  breath  of  morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  :  nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land  ;  nor  herb,  fruit,  flow'r, 
Glist'ring  with  dew;  nor  fragrance,  after  shoWrs  ; 
Nor  grateful  evening  mild  ;  nor  silent  night 
With  this  her  solemn  bird  ;  nor  walk  by  moon, 
Or  glitt'ring  star  light, — without  thee  is  sweet. 

But  wherefore  all  nightlong  shine  these  ?  for  whom 
This  glorious  sight,  when  sleep  hath  shut  all  eyes!" 

6.  To  whom  our  gen'ral  ancestor  reply'd  : 

"  Daughter  of  God  and  man,  accomplish'd  Eve, 

Jhesc  have  their  course  to  finish  round  the  earth 
y  morrow  ev'ning;  and  from  land  to  land. 
In  order,  thou2;h  to  nations  yet  unborn, 
Minist'ring  light  prepar'd,  they  set  and  rise; 
Lest  total  darkness  simuld  bynight  regain 
Her  old  possession,  and  extinguish  life 
In  nature  and  all  things;  which  these  soft  fires 
Not  only  enlighten,  but,  with  kindly  heat 
Of  various  iniluence,  foment  and  warm, 
Temper  or  nourish  ;  or  in  part  shed  down 
Their  stellar  virtues  on  all  kinds  that  grow 
On  earth,  made  hereby  apter  to  receive 
Perfection  from  the  sun's  more  potent  ray. 

7.  These  then,  though  unbeheld  in  deep  of  night, 
Shine  not  in  vain  ;  nor  think,  though  men  were  none. 
That  heav'n  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise  ; 
Millions  of  spirit'^^l  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  ^vhen  we  wake,  and  when  we  sleep. 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold, 
Both  day  and  night.     How  often,  from  the  steep 
Of  echomg  hill  or  thicket  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air, 

Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  others'  note, 
Sinking  their  great  Creator  ?  Oft  in  bands. 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk 
With  heav'nly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds, 
In  full  harmonic  number  join'd,  their  songs 
Divide  tne  nignt,  and  liftour  thoughts  to  heav'n.*' 
A»     Thus  talking,  hand  in  hand  alone  they  pass*d 
Ob  to  their  blissful  bow'r.  t  - 
>    ■         ■  There  arriv'd,  both  stoad. 


fin  English  Header^.  Fart  t^ 

Both  tumM ;  &nd  under  open  sky  adorM 

The  God  that  made  both  sky,  air,  earth,  andheav'n 

Which  they  beheid,  the  moon's  resplendent  globe, 

And  starry  jiole^     *'  Thou  also  macfs't  the  night 

Maker  Omnipotent,  and  thou  the  day. 

Which  we»  in  our  appointed  work  employ'd> 

Have  finish'd,  happy  in  our  mutual  help. 

And  mutual  love,  the  croivn  of  all  our  Miss 

Ordain'd  by  thee  ;  and  this  delicious  place 

For  us  too  large,  where  thy  abundance  wants 

Partakers,  and  uncro})t  falls  to  the  ground. 

But  thou  hast  promis'd  from  us  two  a  race, 

To  fill  the  earth,  who  shall  with  us  extol 

Thy  goodness  itifinite,  both  when  we  wake, 

And  when  we  seek,  as  now,  thy  gift  of  sleep.'*    Milto. 

Sli^CTION  VI. 

x^~  Meligio-n  and  Deaths 

^  I.  Lo  !  a  form  divinely  bright 

Descends  and  bursts  upon  my  sight? 
A  seraph  of  illustrious  birth ! 
(Religion  was  her  name  on  earth ;) 
Supremely  sweet  her  radiant  face, 
And  blooming  with  celestial  grace  ! 
Three  shining  cherubs  form'd  her  tram, 
Wav'd  their  light  wings,  and  reach'd  the  plain 
Faith,  with  sublime  and  piercmg  eye, 
And  pinions  flu tt' ring  for  the  sky  ; 
iiefe  Hope,  that  smiling  angel  stands, 
And  golden  anchors  grace  her  hands  ; 
There  Charity  in  robes  of  white, 
Fairest  and  fav'rite  maid  of  light. 
^    The  seraph  spoke—**  Tis  reason's  part 
To  govern  and  guard  the  heart ; 
To  lull  the  wayward  soul  to  rest, 
When  hopes  and  fears  distract  the  breast* 
Reason  may  calm  this  doubtful  strife. 
And  steer  thy  bark  through  various  life  : 
But  when  the  storms  of  death  are  nigh, 
And  midnight  darkness  veils  the  skj', 
Shall  reason  then  direct  thy  sail. 
Disperse  the  clouds,  or  sink  the  gale  ? 
Stranger,  this  skill  alone  is  mine, 
Skill  that  traiiscends  his  scanty  line  " 


Ckap,  &  Narrative  Pikcss.  §41 

S.    ••  Revere,  thyself— thou  Vt  near  affledl  ( 

To  angels  on  tny  better  side. 
How  various  e'er  their  ranks  or  krndsv 
Angels  are  but  unbodied  minds  : 
When  the  partition  walls  decay. 
Men  emerge  angels  from  their  clay. 
Yes,  when  the  frailer  body  dies, 
The  soul  asserts  her  kindred  skies. 
I5ut  minds,  though  sprung  from  heav'nly  {"Rtc^ 
Must  first  be  tutor'd  for  the  place : 
The  joys  above  are  understood. 
And  relish'd  only  by  the  g;ood. 
Who  shall  assume  this  guardian  care ; 
Who  shall  secure  their  birth -risjht  there  ? 
Souls  are  my  charge — to  me  'tis  giv'n 
To  train  them  for  their  native  heav'n." 

4.  **  Know  then — who  bow  the  early  knc«t 
And  give  the  willing  heart  to  me ; 

Who  wisely  when  temptation  waits, 

Elude  her  frauds,  and  spurn  her  baits ; 

Who  dare  to  own  my  injur'd  cause,  ♦ 

Though  fools  deride  my  sacred  laws  ; 

Or  scorn  to  deviate  to  the  wrong, 

Though  persecution  lifts  her  thon^  ; 

Thoujijh  all  the  sons  of  h^ll  consnire 

To  raise  the  stake  and  light  the  fire  ; 

Know  that  for  such  superior  souls. 

There  lies  a  bliss  beyond  the  poles : 

"\Yhere  spirit?  shine  with  purer  ray. 

And  brighten  lo  meridian  day; 

Where  love,  wh^u-e  boundless  friendship  rulet 

(No  friends  that  change,  no  lore  that  cools ;) 

Where  rising  floods  of  knowledge  roll, 

And  pour,  and  pour  upon  the  soul ! 

5.  *'  But  Where's  the  passaj:;e  to  the  skies  ? 
The  road  througli  death's  black  valley  lies. 
Na5%  do  not  shudder  ?t  my  tale; 

Tho  dark  the  shades,  yet  safe  the  vale. 
This  path  the  best  of  men  have  trod  : 
And  who'd  decline  the  road  to  God  ? 
Oh  !  'tis  a  gl(?i-ious  boon  tf>  die  .• 
This  favour  can't  be  priz'dtoo  high." 

6.  While  thus  she  spoke,  my  looks  exprew'd 
The  raptures  kindling  in  my  breast ; 

My  sou!  a  fix'd  atttntion  gave ; 


•4f  KffGxisH  Header.  Part  ft. 

When  the  sl^m  monarch  of  the  grave, 

With  haughty  strides  approach'd  : — amaz'd 

I  stood  and  trembled  as  I  gaz'd. 
'         The  seraph  calmM  each  anxious  fear, 

And  kintlly  wip'd  the  falling  tear, 

Then  hasten'd  with  expanded  wing 

To  meet  the  pale,  terrific  king. 
^     T.     But  now  wnat  milder  scenes  arise  I 

The  tyrant  drops  his  hostile  guise  ; 

He  seems  a  jouth  divinely  fair, 

In  graceful  ringlets  waves  his  hair  : 

His  wings  their  whit'ning  plumes  display, 

His  burnish'd  plumes  reflect  the  day  ; 

Ciight  flows  his  shining  azure  vest, 

And  all  the  angel  stands  confess'd. 

I  view'd  the  change  with  sweet  surprise ; 

And  Oh  !  1  panted  for  the  skies  : 

Thank*d  heav'n  that  e'er  I  drew  my  breath  ;  *>. 

And  triumph'd  in  the  thoughts  of  death.  *     cotton.) 


CHAPTER  llf. 

©Itrattic  ^tctes. 

SECTION   I. 

The  vanity  of  wealth. 
!•  No  more  thus  brooding  o'er  yon  heap,       ' 
^   With  aVrice  painful  vigils  keep  ;  ^ 

^  Still  unenjoy'd  the  present  store, 
'  Still  endless  sighs  are  breath'd  for  more. 

•  Oh !  quit  the  Shadow,  c^itch  the  prize, 

.  Which  not  all  India's  treasure  buys  I  ' 

To  purchase  heav'n  has  gold  the  pow'r  ?     , 

*  Can  gold  remove  the  mortal  hour  ? 

.  <ln  life  can  love  be  bought  with  gold  ?  ' 

♦  Are  friendship's  pleasures  to  be  sold  ?  » 
,  «No— all  that's  worth  a  wish — a  thought,     » 

Fair  rirtue  gives  unbrib'd,  unbought.  f 

*  Cease  then  on  trash  thy  hopes  to  bind  ;    , 

'  L«t  nobler  views  engage  thy  mind.        dr.  johnson* 
SECTION  II. 
Nothing  foTin^d  in.  vain, 
I.  lyST  fK>  presuming  impious  railer  tax 
Crtative^  wisdom ;  as  iC  aught  was  form'd 


Chap.  3.  DiiiACTic  f  lECKS.  C^ 

In  vain,  or  not  far  admirable  ends. 
Shall  little  haughty  ij^norance  pronounce 
His  wyrk;?  unwise,  of  which  the  smallest  part 
Exceeds  the  narrow  vision  of  her  mind  1 
As  if,  upon  a  full-proportionVl  dome, 
On  swelling  columns  heav'd,  the  pride  of  art ! 
A  critic-ily,  whose  feeble  ray  scarce  spreads 
An  inch  around,  with  blind  presumption  bold. 
Should  dare  to  tax  the  structure  of  the  w  hole. 
S.  And  lives  the  man,  whose  universal  eye 

Has  swept  at  once  Ih'  unbounded  scheme  of  things ; 

MarkM  their  dependence  so,  and  i\vm  accord, 

As  with  unfault'ring  accent  to  conclude, 

That  this  availeth  nauj^ht  I  Ha^  any  seen 

The  mighty  chain  of  beif}p;s,  less'nmg  down 

From  infinite  perfection,  to  the  brink 

Of  dreary  nothing,  desolate  abyss  ! 

From  which  astonish'd  thought^  recoiling;  turnd  T 

Till  then  alone  It^  zealous  praise  ascend. 

And  hymns  of  holy  wonder,  to  tliat  P(nvKR, 

Whose  wisdom  shines  as  lovely  in  our  minds. 

As  cv  our  smiling  e3^es  his  servant  sun.     THOMPSOifr 

SECTION  111. 

On  pride. 

J)f  all  the  causes,  which  conspire  to  blind 
Man's  erring  judgment,  and  misguide  the  mind, 
What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 
Is  pride,  the  never-failing  vice  of  fools. 
Whatever  nature  has  in  worth  deny'd, 
She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  nerd  fid  pride  ! 
For,  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find  m 

What  wants  in  blood  and  spirits,  swell'd  with  wind 
Pride,  where  wit  fails,  steps  in  to  our  defence. 
And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void,  of  sense-. 
fi*  if  once  right  reason  drives  that  cloud  away. 
Truth  breaks  upon  us  with  resistless  day. 
Trust  not  yourself ;  but,  your  defects  to  knoit, 
Make  use  of  ev'ry  friend — and  rv'ry  foe. 
A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing  ; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring :  * 

There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain ; 
ADd4rinking  Jargely  sobers  us  again. 


t44  Es^GLisH  Reader.  Part  £• 

d.  Fir'd  at  first  sight  with  what  the  muse  imparts. 
In  fearless  youtii  we  tempt  the  heights  of  arts. 
While,  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind, 
Short  views  we  tjike,  nor  see  the  lengths  behind ; 
But  more  advanc'd,  behold,  with  strange  surprise, 
New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise  ! 
So  pleas'd  at  first  the  tow'ring  Alps  we  try, 
•Mount  o'er  the  vales,  and  seem  to  tread  the  sky; 
Th'  eternal  snows  appear  already  past, 
And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the  last ; 
But,  those  attain'd,  we  tremble  to  survey 
The  growing  labours  of  the  lengthen'd  way  ; 
Th'  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wand'ring  eyes; 
Hills  peep  o'er  Iiills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise,     rops. 
SECTION  IV. 
Cruelty  to  brutes  censured, 

1. 1  WOULD  not  enter  on  my  Fist  of  friends, 
(Though  pac'd  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine  senses 
Yet  wantnig  sensibility,)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail, 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path; 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarn'a, 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 

£.The  creepinj^  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight, 
And  charged  perhaps  with  venom,  that  intrudes 
A  visitor  unwelcome  into  scenes 
Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  th'  alcove, 
The  chamber,  or  refectory  may  die. 
A  necessarj''  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so,  when  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 
And  guiltless  of  offence  they  ran^e  the  air. 
Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  field, 
'theie  they  are  privile^'d.    And  he  that  hunts 
Or  harms  them  there,  is  guilty  of  a  wrong  ; 
Disturbs  th'  economy  of  nature's  relm, 
Who,  when  she  form'd,  designed  them  an  abode* 

8.  The  sum  is  Jiis  ;  if  man's  convenience,  health. 
Or  safety  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims. 
Are  paramount-,  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 
Else  they  are  all — the  meanest  things  that  are, 
As  free  to  live  and  to  enjoy  that  life, 
As  God  was  fr(^e  to  forrn  them  at  first. 
Who,  in  his  sovereign  wisdom,  made  them  all. 


QtafK    $»  DlDACTU    PlKCKS.  M^ 

^  Ye,  therefore,  who  love  mercj,  teach  your  tODt 
To  love  it  too.     The  sprin*::  tjme  of  our  yearn 
Is  soon  dishonour'cl  and  defil'd,  in  most, 
By  budding  ills,  that  nsk  a  prudent  hand 
To  cneck  them,     hut,  alas  !  none  sooner  shoots 
If  unrestrain'd,  into  luxuriant  growth, 
Than  cruelty,  most  dt^v'lish  of  them  all. 

S.Mercy  to  him  that  shoivs  it,  is  the  rule 
And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act, 
Hy  which  heav'n  moves  in  pard'ning  guilty  man  t 
And  he  that  shows  none,  beinp;  ripe  in  years, 
^  And  conscious  of  the  outra^^e  he  commits, 

Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it  in  his  turn.        cowpsi« 

SECTION  V. 

A  paraphrase  on  the  latter  part  of  the  (jth  chapter  of  SL 

Matthew. 

I.When  my  breast  labours  with  oppressiv(*  care, 
And  o'er  my  cheek  descends  the  failing  tear; 
"While  all  my  warring  passions  are  at  strife, 
Oh  !  let  me  listen  to  the  words  of  life ! 
Raptures  deep-felt  his  doctrine  did  impart. 
And  thus  he  rais'd  from  earth  the  drooping;  heart, 

f.  "Tliink  not,  when  all  your  scanty  stores  afford. 
Is  spread  al  once  u|)on  the  sparinj;  hoard  ; 
Think  not,  when  worn  the  homely  robe  appears^ 
While  on  the  roof  the  howlinji;  tempest  bears; 
What  farther  siiall  this  feeble  life  sustain. 
And  wliat,shall  clothe  tiiese  shiv'rinj^  limbs  agjvin. 

C.  Say,  does  not  life  its  nourishment  exceed] 
Ana  the  fair  body  its  inveslinjr  weed  ? 
Behold  I  and  look  away  your  low  despair- 
See  the  light  tenants  of  the  l»arren  air  : 
To  them,  nor  stores,  nor  j^ranaries  belonp; : 
Nought,  but  the  woodland,  and  the  pleasin',^  songt 
Yet,  yoiu*  kind  heav'nly  fatiier  bends  his  eye 
On  the  least  wing  that  Hits  along  the  sky. 

4.  To  him  they  sing  when  s})ring  renews  the  plain  i"^ 
To  him  they  cry  in  winter's  pinching  reign  :  > 
Nor  is  their  mubic,  nor  their  plaint  in  vain  :  j 
He  hears  the  gay,  and  the  distressful  call  ; 

And  with  uns))aVing  bounty  (ills  them  all.** 

5.  **  Observe  the  rising  lily's  snowy  }^racQ< 
Ob«e4Te  the  various  vegetable  race  ; 

w  a 


§46  EiVGiiSH  Rkadeh.  Fart  £. 

'they  ne.lthor  toil,  nov  spin,  but  careless  {^row ; 
Yetsceliow  warm  th«y  bluv.h  !  how  bri>?;htthciy  glow 
What  rngal  vestments  can  with  th^^m  compare ! 
What  k\ivx  SO'  shining;  !  of'vhat  (jiicen  so  iair  ! 
6.     **  If  ce'dsr.k'«s,  thus,  the  fowls  of  heaven  he  feedB; 
If  o'er  the  fields  suc^i  lucid  robes  he  spreads  ; 
Will  he  not  care  for  you,  ye  faithless,  say  ? 
Is  he  unwise  ?  o=r,  are  ye  less  than  they  /" 

THOMSON. 

SECTION  VI. 

IVie  death  of  a  good  man  a  strong  incentive  to  virtue^, 
S.  Tiis  chamber  where  the  good  man  meets  kis  fate^ 

Is  privilcj^'d  beyond  the  common  walk 

Of  virtuoivs  life,  quite  in  the  verge  of  heav'n* 

Fly,  ^ir.  profane!  if  not,  draw  near  with  awe, 

Receive  the  blessing,  and  adore  the  chance, 

That  threw  in  this  13ethesda  your  disease  : 

If  unrestor'd  by  this,  despair  your  cure. 
2.  For,  here,  resistU^ss  demonstration  dwells  ; 

A  death-bed's  a  detector  of  the  heart. 

Here  tir'd  dissimulation  drops  her  mask, 

Thro'  lifer's  grimace,  that  mistress  of  the  scen«? 

Here,  real  and  apparent,  are  the  same. 

You  see  the  man  ;  you  see  his  hold  on  heav'n,. 

If  sound  his  virtue,  as  Philander's  sound. 
5.  Heav'n  waits  not  the  last  moment ;  owns  her  friends 

0«  this  side  death  ;  and  points  them  out  to  ijaen  ; 

A  lecture,  silent,  but  of  sov'reign  p-ow'r  ! 

'J'o  vice,  confusion  :  and  to.  virtue,  peace.. 

Whatever  farce  the  boastful  hero  plays, 

Virtue  alone  has  majesty  in  death  ; 

And)  greater  still,  the  more  the  tyrant  frowns^ 

TOUWe. 

SECTION  vn. 

Reflections  on  a  future  state^  from  a  review  of  winter, 
l.'Tis  done  !  dread  Avinter  spreads  his  latest  glooms, 

And  reigns  tremeadous  o'er  the  conquer'd  year. 

How, dead  the  vegetable  kingdom  lies  ! 

How  dumb  the  tuneful !  Horror  Avide  extends 

His  desolate  domain.     Jiehold,  fond  man  ! 

See  here  thy  pictured  life  :  pass  some  few  years. 

Thy  flow'ring  spring,  thy  summer's  ardeat  8tr«n|;th» 

Thy  sober  autumn  fading  into  a|;o, 


And  pule  concluding  winter  comes  at  kst. 
And  shuts  the  scene. 

2.  Ah  !  whither  now  are  fled 
Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  tJ)oae  unsolid  hop<:9 
Of  happiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame  7 
Those  restless  cares  ?  those  busy  bustling  dayt  T 
Those  gay-spent  festive  nights  ?  those  veering  thou^M^ 
Lost  between  good  and  ill,  that  shar'd  thy  hfc? 

3.  Ail  now  are  vanish'd  !  Virtue  sole  burvivcs, 
Immortal,  never  failing  friend  of  mun» 
Misguide  to  happiness  on  liigh.     And  see  ! 
'Tis  come,  the  glorious  morn  !  the  second  birth 
Of  heav'n  and  earth  !  awakening  nature  hears 
The  new-creating  Avord  ;  and  starts  to  life, 

In  ev'ry  heighten'd  form,  from  pain  and  death 
For  ever  free.     The  great  eternal  scheme, 
Involving  all,  and  in  a  perfect  whole 
Uniting  as  the  ])rospect  wider  spreads., 
To  reason's  eye  renn'd  clears  jp  apace. 

4.  Ye  vainly  wise !  Ye  blind  presumptuoui !  iu>w, 
Confounded  in  the  dust,  adore  that  Power, 
And  Wisdom  oft  arraign'd  ;  see  now  the  cauM 
Why  unassuming  worth  in  secret  liv'd, 

And  died  neglected  :  why  the  good  man'i  8hiir« 
In  life  was  gall,  and  bitterness  of  soul : 
Why  the  lone  widow  and  her  orphani  pln'tj 
In  starving  solitude ;  While  luxury, 
In  palaces  lay  straining  her  low  thought, 
To  form  unreal  wants  :  why  heav'n-born  truth. 
And  moderation  fair,  wore  the  red  marks 
Of  superstition's  scourge;  why  licensed  pain, 
That  cruel  snoiler,  that  embosera'd  foe, 
Imbitter'd  all  our  bliss, 
d.  Ye  good  distresaM  I 

Ye  noble  few !  who  here  unbending  stand 
Beneath  life's  pressure,  vet  bear  up  awhile, 
And  what  your  bounded  view  which  only  aaw 
A  little  part,  deem'd  evil,  is  no  more  : 
The  storms  of  wint'ry  time  will  quickly  pass. 
And  one  unbounded  spring  encircle  all.        TUOMtMlk 

SECTION  VIll. 
Adam's  advice  to  Eve,  to  avoid  t^mpiatiof^ 
1.  **  O  WOMAN,  best  are  all  things  as  the  will 
Of  God  ordain'd  them ;  his  creating  baD<ii 


ftft  English  JIeader.  Pari  %,  ^i 

^ottilaff  imperfect  or  deficient  left 
Of  all  tiiat  lie  created,  much  lessinaa, 
Oraujjht  that  might  his  happy  state  secure> 
Hecure  from  outward  force.     Within  himself 
The  danj;er  lies,  yet  lies  within  his  pow'r  : 
Against  his  will  he  can  receive  no  harm. 

^  But  God  left  free  the  will  :  for  what  obeys 
Reason  is  free,  and  reason  he  made  right ; 
But  bid  her  well  beware,  nnd  still  erect, 
Lest  by  some  fair  appearing  ^ood  surprised 
She  dictate  false,  and  misinform  the  will 
To  do  what  God  expressly  hath  forbid. 
Not  then  mistrust,  but  tender  love,  enjoins  • 
That  I  should  mind  thee  oft :  and  mind  thoumei. 

d>  Firm  we  subsist,  yet  possible  to  swerve, 
Since  reason  not  impossibly  nviy  meet 
Some  specious  object  by  the  foe  suborn'd, 
And  fall  into  deception  unaware, 
Not  keeping  strictest  watch,  as  she  was  warned. 
Seek  not  temptation  then,  which  to  avoid 
Were  better,  and  most  likely  if  from  me 
Thou  sever  not ;  trial  will  come  unsouj!;ht. 

4.  Wouldst  thou  apj)ruve  thy  constancy  ?  approve 
First  thy  obedience  ;  th'  other  who  can  know, 
Not  seeing  thee  attempted,  who  attest? 
But  if  thou  think,  trial  unsought  may  find 
Us  both  securer  than  thus  warnM  thou  secm^stt 
Gu ;  for  thy  stay,  not  free,  absents  thee  more  : 
Go  in  thy  native  innocence  ;  rely 
On'what  thou  hast  of  virtue,  summon  all ; 
For  God  towards  thee  hath  done  his  part;  do  thine.** 

MILT09. 

SECTION  IX. 

On  Procrastination, 

3.  Bk  wise  tO'day ;  'tis  madness  to  defer: 

Next  day  the  fatal  precedent  will  plead ; 

Thus  on,  till  wisdom  is  push'd  out  of  life. 

Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time. 

Year  after  year  it  steals,  till  all  are  fled ; 

And  to  the  mercies  of  a  moment  leaves 

The  Tast  concerns  of  an  eternal  scene. 
1L  or  man's  miracirious  mistakes,  this  bears 

Tbe  palm,  **  That  all  me;i  are  aiiout  to  Uy«  t** 


CkttJK   8k  DlDACTl*    flECEJK  §4# 

For  erer  on  tho  brink  of  belnp;  ooriu 

All  pay  themselvcL^  tlie  comj>liinent  to  think. 

They  one  day  shall  not  drivel ;  and  their  prid« 

On  this  roversion  takes  up  ready  praise  ; 

At  least,  Iheir  own  ;  their  future  selves  applauds; 

liow  excellent  that  life  they  ne'er  will  lead! 

Time  lodp;Vi  in  their  own  I)ands  is  folly's  vaili; 

That  lod^'d  in  fate's,  to  wisdinm  they  consi^^n ; 

The  thinj;  thev  can't  but  purpose,  they  postpone* 

'Tis  not  in  folly,  not  to  scorn  a  fool  ; 

And  scarce  in  fiuman  wisdom  to  do  more, 
t.  All  promise  is  j)Oor  dilatory  man  ; 

Ana  that  thro'  cv'ry  sta^e.     ^Vhen  young,  indee4« 

In  full  content,  we  sometimes  nobly  rest, 

Unanxioi^s  for  ourselves;  and  only  wish, 

As  duteous  sons,  our  fathers  Were  mure  wise 

At  thirty,  man  suspects  himself  a  fool; 

Knows  It  at  forty,  and  reforms  his  plan ; 

At  fifty,  chides  fiis  infamous  delay  ; 

Pushes  his  prudent  purpose  to  res»olve  ; 

Jn  all  the  magnanimity  of  thoujijht, 

Resolves,  and  re-resolves,  then  dies  the  same. 
4.  And  why  ?  JJecause  he  thinks  himsetf  immortal. 

All  men  think  all  men  mortiil,  but  themselves  ; 

Themselves,  when  some  alarminj;  shock  of  fate 

Strikes  tliro'  their  wounded  hearts  the  sudden  <lread| 

But  their  hearts  wounded,  like  the  wounded  air, 

Soon  close  ;  where,  past  the  shaft,  no  trace  is  found. 

As  from  the  winji;  no  scar  tiie  sky  retains; 

The  parted  wave  no  furrow  from  the  keel ; 

So  dies  in  human  hearts  the  thou<i;ht  of  death. 

Ev*n  with  the  tender  tear  which  Nature  sh«ds 

O'er  those  we  love,  we  dropt  it  in  their  grave.  TOVif« 

SECTION  X. 

That  philosophy,  which  stops  at  secondary  caxtsts^  rtpromi 
I,  Happy  the  mnn  who  sees  a  God  employed 

In  all  the  good  and  ill  that  checker  life  I 

Kesolvinj^  all  events,  with  their  effects 

And  manifold  results,  into  the  will 

And  arbitration  wise  of  the  Supreme. 

Did  not  his  eye  rule  all  things,  and  intend 

The  least  of  our  concerns  ;  (since  from  the  lent 

The  greatest  oft  originate  ;)  could  chanct 

Find  place  in  his  dominioni  or  dispose 


iSO  iL.NuLisH   KEAOfcU.  Part  a. 

One  l;l^Yloss  parfrele  to  thwart  his  }jh.n  ; 
Then  ium  im^^Ut  he  surj>n?'(!,  and  'Wiforesften 
(y'ontingepce  vnj^ht  Mi:irin  iiim,  >in(\  disturb 
The  smooth  nod  tMjuai  ri>mse  of  h'l'i  alTairs. 

£.  This  trut!i,  ph'lusophy,  tliou^li  ea^-ie-ey'd 
In  nature's  tendencies,  nft  o'erlook.s  ; 
And  having;  round  his  instrument,  forgets 
Or  disregards,  or,  more  presumptuous  still, 
J")enie:-4  the  povv'r  that  wiejds  it.     God  proclaims 
His  hot  displeasure  against  foolish  men 
That  live  an  at.heist  life  ;  involves  the  heav'n 
In  tempests  ;  (piits  his  ^rasp  upon  the  winds, 
And  gives  them  :dl  their  fury  ;  bids  a  plague 
Kindle  a  fiery  boil  upon  the  skin, 
And  putrify  the  breath  of  blooming  health  ;" 

i  <*,lle  calls  f(u-  famine,  and  the  meagre  hend   • 
j^lows  mildew  froiii  between  his  shrivel'd  lips, 
And  taints  the  golden  ear ;  he  springs  his  mines. 
And  desolates  a  nation  at  a  bl.ist : 
Forth  steps  the  spruce  philosoplier,  and  tells 
Of  homogeneal  and  discordant  springs 
A.nd  principles ;  of  causes,  how  they  work 
By  necessary  laws  their  sure  eflects, 
S)[  action  and  re-action. 
I  He  has  found 

The  source  of  the  disease  that  nature  feels; 
And  bids  the  world  take  heart  and  banish  r*5ar. 
Thou  fool !  will  thy  discov'ry  of  the  cause 
Suspend  th'  effect,  or  heal  it  ?  lias  not  God 
Still  wrought  by  means  since  first  he  made  the  world  ? 
And  did  he  not  of  old  employ  his  means. 
To  drown  it  ?  What  is  his  creation  leiis 
Than  a  capacious  reservoir  of  means, 
Form'd  for  his  use,  and  ready  at  his  w  111  ? 
Go,  dress  thine  eyes  with  eye-salve  :  ask  of  him, 
Or  ask  of  whomsoever  he  has  taught;  * 
And  learn,  though  late,  the  genuine  cause  of  all. 

SECTION  XL 

Indignant  sentiments  on  national  prejudices  a»d  hatred; 
and  on  slater y. 

1.  Oh,  for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness,. 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
Vhere  rumour  of  oppression  and  fkceU* 


it^nofu  X  Dii^ACTie  FiJBCEfi.  ijfi^ 

Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  vrar, 

Might  never  reach  me  more  !  My  ear  ia  {>aAp*d| 

My  soul  is  sick  with  every  day's  report 

Of  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  is  fiM'it  ' 

There  is  no  flesh  in  man's  obdurate  heart ; 

It  does  not  fee!  for  man.     The  natural  bond.^ 

Of  brotherhood  is  sever'd  as  the  ilax 

That  falls  asunder  at  the  touch  of  fire. 

£.  He  finds  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 

Not  coloured  like  his  own  ;  and  having  pow'r 
T'  enforce  the  wronc,  for  such  a  worthy  catwe 
Dooms  and  devotes  him  as  his  lawful  prey. 
Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interposM, 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else, 
Like  kindred  drops,  been  mingled  into  onct. 

5.  Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroy*  f 
And  worse  than  all,  and  most  to  be  deplor'd. 
As  human  nature's  broadest,  foulest  blot, 
Chains  him,  and  tasks  him,  and  exacts  hi*  »wea| 
With  stripes,  that  mercy,  with  a  bleeding  lb«art« 
Weeps  when  she  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast. 

4.  Then  what  is  man  !  And  what  man  seeina  thu^ 
And  having  human  feelings,  does  not  bluish 
And  hang  his  head,  to  think  himself  a  mAti  7 

I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  mv  ground. 
To  carry  me,  to  fan  me  while  I  slfpep, 
And  tremble  when  1  wake,  for  all  the  wealth 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  have  ever  «arn*cL 

5.  No  :  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart*! 
Just  estimation  priz'd  above  all  price  ; 

1  had  much  rather  be  myself  the  slave, 
And  wear  the  bonds,  than  fasten  them  on  him. 
We  have  no  slaves  at  home — then  w  hy  abroad  1 
And  they  themselves  once  ferried  o'er  the  wm?« 

,         That  parts  us,  are  emancipate  and  loos'd. 

6  Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  E.Qgland  :  if  their  luofii' 

1         Receive  our  air,  that  momeat  they  are  free  ; 

They  touch  our  country,  and  their  shaekle*  taiL 
That's  n-ohle,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 
And  ieaJourf  of  the  blessing.     Spread  it  Ibeo, 
And  let  it  circulate  througli  evVy  veia 


Of  all  your  empire  :  that  where  Britajn 


felt,  mankind  may  feel  hec  morc^ 


#5ft  £noli8h  Readeb.  M*ari  ifv^il 

CHAPTER  IV. 

SECTION  1. 
77f^  morning  in  summer, 
1«  The  meekey'd  raorn  appears,  mother  of  dews. 

At  first  faint  gleaming  in  the  dappled  e-'ist ; 

Till  far  o'er  ether  spreads  the  wid'ning  glow  ; 

And  from  before  the  lustre  of  her  face 

White  break  the  clouds  away.     With  quicken'd  step 

Brown  night  retires  :  young  day  pours  in  apace, 

And  opens  all  the  lawny  prospect  wide. 
£•  The  dripping  rock,  the  mountain's  misty  top, 

Swell  on  the  sight,  and  brighten  with  the  dawn. 

Blu^,  thro*  the  dusk,  the  smoaking  currents  shine; 

And"  from  the  bladed  field  the  fearful  hare    , 

Limps  awkward :  while  along  the  forest-glad« 
^  The  wild  deer  trip,  and  often  turning  gaze 

At  early  passenger.     Music  awakes 

The  native  voice  of  undissembled  joy  ; 

And  thick  around  the  woodland  hymns  arise. 
d.  Kou8*d  by  the  cock,  the  soon-clad  shepherd  leaves 

HJ8  mossy  cottage,  where  with  peace  ne  dwells ; 

And  from  the  crowded  fold,  in  order,  drives 

His  flock  to  taste  the  verdure  of  the  morn. 
Fa?l8ely  luxurious,  will  not  man  awake  ; 

And,  springing  from  the  bed  of  sloth,  enjoy 

Th«  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  hour" 

To  meditation  due  and  sacred  song  ? 

For  is  there  ought  in  sleep  can  charm  the  wise  ? 
4.  To  lie  in  dead  oblivion,  losing  half 

The  fleeting  moments  of  too  short  a  life  ; 

Total  extinction  of  th'  enlightened  soul ! 

Or  else  to  feverish  vanity  alive, 

Wilder*d,  and  tossing  thro'  distemper'd  dreams  1 

Who  would,  in  such  a  gloomy  state,  remain 

Longer  than  nature  craves  ;  when  ev'ry  muse 

And  every  blooming  pleasure  waits  wShout, 

To  blew  the  wildly  devious  morning  walk? 

TUOMBOIf 

SECTION  IL 
Rttrtd  sounds ^  as  well  as  rural  sights y  delightful* 
I.N^r  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  gounds 
tlxhiJcrate  tlie  »;>irit,  and  restore 


Ckap.  i.  'Descriptive  Tikcev.  909 

The  tone  oT  languid  nature.     Miglity  wJnds, 
That  sweep  t-he  <<kirt  of  bonie  farTsprcading  wood 
Of  ancient  prrow'th,  oiake  niiisic,  not  unlike 
Thii  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  windin;:;  ?horp. 
And  lull  the  spirit  wliile  thny  iill  the  mind^ 
Unnumt>(M''d  hranehes  vvavin;^  in  the  Wast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fasi  iiutt'ring  all  at  once. 
H.  Nor  less  composure  wails  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods  ;  or  on  th*.'  softer  voice 
Of  neij;hl)'rin;:;  fountain  ;  t>r  of  rills  that  slip 
Throu?;h  the  cleft  rock,  and,  cliiniing  as  iUvy  fait 
Upon  loose  pehhies,  lose  thenist^lves  atlen;;;tu 
In  matted  grass,  that,  will)  a  livelier  green, 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silerit  course. 
Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  soumJa  ; 
Jlut  animated  nature  sweeter  still, 
To  Booth  and  satisfy  the  human  ear. 
3.  Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
Th6  live-lonj;  night.     Nor  these  alone,  whose  do^ 
Nice  iinp;er'd  art  must  emulate  in  vajn  ; 
liut  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime, 
Jn  still  repeated  circles,  screaminj^  Jond, 
The  ja},  the  ])ye,  and  ev'n  the  boding  owl 
That  hails  the  risi^jgmoon,  liave  charms  for  me. 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves,  and  harsh. 
Yet  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  for  ever  reip^ns, 
And  only  there,  please  higlily  for  their  sake. 

cowrKE. 
SECTION  111. 
The  Rose. 
!.  The  rose  had  been  wash'd,  lateJy  wash'd  in  a  skoweff 
Which  Mary  to  Anna  convey'd  ; 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumber'd  the  flower, 
And  weigh'd  down  its  beautiful  head. 
fi.  The  cup  was  all  fill'd,  and  the  leaves  were  all  wet, 

And  seem'd  to  a  fanciful  view, 
j     To  weep  for  the  buds  it  had  left  with  regret, 

On  the  flourishing  bush  where  it  grew. 
^  8. 1  hastily  seiz'd  it,  unfit  as  it  was 

For  a  nosegay,  so  dripping  and  drownM ; 
And  swinging  it  rudely,  too  rudely,  alas! 
I  1  snap'd  it — it  fell  to  the  ground. 

'*4.  And  such,  1  exclaim'd,  is  the  pitiless  par^ 
Some  act  by  the  delicate  mincl. 


ft^  EKGLisri  Readek.  Pmt  % 

Kegardles6  of  wringing  and  breaking  a  bcarU 
Already  to  sorrow  resign'd. 
6.  ThJs  elegant  rose,  had  I  shaken  it  less. 

Might  have  bloom'd  with  its  owner  awhile  : 
And  the  tear  that  is  wip'd  with  a  little  address. 
May  be  followed  jxjrhaps  by  a  smile.  cowpwl 

SECTION  IV. 

Care  of  birds  for  their  young. 

1.  As  thus  the  patient  dam  assiduous  sits, 
Not  to  be  tem-pted  from  her  tender  task, 
Or  by  sharp  hunger,  or  by  smooth  delight, 
Tho'  the  whole  loosen'd  spring  around  her  blows, 
Her  sympathizing  partner  takes  his  stand 
High  on  the  opponent  bank,  and  ceaseless  sings 
The  tedious  time  away  ;  or  else  supplies 
Her  place  a  moment,  while  she  sudaen  iiits 
To  pick  the  scanty  meal. 

£.  Th'  appointed  time 

With  pious  toil  fulfill'd,  the  callow  young, 
Warm'd  and  expanded  into  perfect  life. 
Their  brittle  bondage  break,  and  come  to  light, 
A  helpless  family,  demanding  food 
With  constant  clamour.     O  what  passions  then. 
What  melting  sentiments  of  kindly  care, 
On  the  new  parents  seize  ! 

8.  Away  they  fly 

Affectionate,  and  undesiring  bear 
The  most  delicious  morsel  to  their  young ; 
Which  equally  distributed,  again 
The  search  begins.     Even  so  a  gentle  pair 
By  fortune  sunlc,  but  form'd  of  gen'rous  mould, 
And  charm'd  with  cares  beyond  the  vulgar  breast, 
In  some  lone  cot  amid  the  distant  woods, 
•Sustain'd  alone  b)r'  providential  Heav*n, 
Oft,  as  they  weeping  eye  their  infant  train, 
Check  their  own  appetites,  and  give  them  all. 

THOSirSOlf 

SECTION  V. 

Ltbtiy  i4id  slavery  contrasted.    Part  of  a  letter  vnittm 
from  Italy  by  Addison, 
l.How  has  kind  Heav'n  adorn'U  the  happy  land, 
And  scattered  blessings  with  a  wasteful  nand-t 


I 


Chap»  4.  Descrxptivk  Tieces*  S^ 

But  what  avail  her  unexhausted  store*, 
Her  blooming  mountains,  and  her  sunny  shores. 
With  all  the  j;irts  that  heav'n  and  earth  impart, 
The  smiles  of  nature,  and  the  charms  of  art. 
While  proud  oppression  in  her  valley's  reigns, 
And  tyranny  usurps  her  hnppy  plains  ! 
The  poorinhabitant  beholds  in  vain 
The  ledd'nin^  oranj^e,  and  the  swellinj;  j^rain; 
joyless  he  sees  the  throwing  oils  and  wines, 
And  in  the  myrtle's  fragrant  shade  repines, 
ft.  Oh,  Liberty,  thou  pow'r  supremely  bright, 
Profuse  of  bliss,  and  pregnant  with  delight! 
Perpetual  pleasures  in  thy  presence  reign  ; 
Ana  smiling  plenty  leads  thy  wanton  train. 
Eas'd  of  her  load,  subjection  grows  more  light; 
And  poverty  looks  cheerful  in  thy  sight. 
Thou  mak'st  the  gloonjy  face  of  nature  gay  ; 
Giv'st  beauty  to  the  sun,  and  nleasure  to  th*6  <\aii 
$,  On  foieign  mountains,  may  the  sun  refine 
The  grape's  soft  juice,  and  mellow  it  to  wine  ; 
With  citron  groves  adorn  a  ilistant  soil^ 
And  the  fat  olive  swell  with  Hoods  of  oil: 
We  envy  not  the  warmer  clime,  that  lies 
In  ten  degrees  of  more  indulgent  skies  ; 
Nor  at  the  coarseness  of  our  heaven  repine, 
Tho'  o'er  our  heads  the  frozen  Pleiads  shine  ' 
*Tis  liberty  that  crowns  Britannia's  Is)e, 
And  makes  her  barren  locks,  and  her  bleac  moiiiy 
tains  smile. 

SECTION  VI. 
Charity,     A  paraj)krase  on  the  ISth  Chapter  of  the  firit 
epistle  to  the  Corinthians, 
1.  Did  sweeter  sounds  adorn  my  flowing  tongue. 
Than  ever  man  pronounc'd  or  angel  sung; 
Had  1  all  knowledge  human  and  divine, 
That  thought  can  reach,  or  science  can  define  ( 
And  had  I  pow'r  to  give  that  knowledge  birth, 
In  all  the  speeches  of  the  babbling  earth  ; 
Did  Shadrach's  zeal  my  growing  breast  inspire. 
To  wean^  tortures,  and  rejoice  in  fire; 
Or  had  1  faith  like  that  which  Israel  sa^T, 
When  Moses  gave  them  miracles  and  law; 
Yet  gracious  charity,  indulgent  guest, 
Were  not  thy  dowt  exerted  in  my  breasi^l 


UM  Enolisb  Reader.  Pari  % 

Tt»os««pe*^h(Mi  would  send  up  unheeded  pray*r  ; 

That  scorn  of  life  would  he  hut  wild  despair  ; 

A  cymhal's  sound  were,  helter  than  my  roice  ; 

My  faitii  were  form  ;  my  eloquence  irere  noise, 
i.     Charity,  decent,  modest,  easy,  kind, 

Softens  the  hif!;h,  and  rears  the  abject  mind  r 

Knows  with  just  reins,  and  gentle  hand,  to  guidt 

Jietwixt  vile  shame,  and  arhitrary  pride. 

Not  soon  provok'd  she  easily  forgives ; 

Andmu«h  shesulfers,  as  she  much  believes. 

Soft  peace  she  brings  wherever  she  arrives  ; 

She  DuHds  our  <juiet,  as  she  forms  our  livei* 

Lays  the  rough  paths  of  peevish  nature  eren  ; 

And  opens  m  each  heart  a  little  heav'n. 
8.    Each  other  gift,  which  God  on  man  bestoirs. 

Its  proper  bounds,  and  due  restriction  knows; 

To  one  fix'd  purpose  dedicates  its  pow*r ; 

And  finishing  its  act,  exists  no  more. 

Thus,  in  obedience  to  what  heav'n  decrees, 

Knowledge  shall  fail,  and  prophecy  shall  cease; 

But  lasting  charity's  more  ample  sway. 

Nor  bound  by  time,  nor  subject  to  decay, 

In  happy  triumph  shall  for  ever  live  ; 

And  endless  good  diffuse,  and  endless  praise  receiTei. 

4.  As  through  the  artist's  intervening  glass. 
Our  eye  observes  the  distant  planets  pass ; 
A  little  w^e  discover  ;  but  allow, 

That  more  remains  unseen,  than  art  can  show; 
So  whilst  our  mind  its  knowledge  would  improvet 
lits  feeble  eye  intent  on  things  above,) 
High  as  we  may,  we  lift  our  reason  up. 
By  faith  directed,  and  confirm'd  by  hope; 
Vet  are  we  able  only  to  survey, 
Dawnings  of  l)eams  and  promises  of  day ; 
Heav'n*s  fuller  affluence  mocks  our  dazzled  sig;ht ; 
Too  great  its  swiftness,  and  too  strong  its  light* 

5.  But  soon  the  mediate  clouds  «hall  be  dispelled; 
The  sun  shall  soon  be  face  to  face  beheld, 

In  all  his  robes,  with  all  his  ^lory  on, 
Seated  sublime  on  his  meridian  throne. 
Then  constant  faith,  and  holy  hope  shall  die. 
One  lost  in  certainty,  and  one  in  joy  : 
Whilst  thou,  more  happy  pow'r,  fair  chanty. 
Triumphant  sister,  greatest  of  the  three, 
Thy  office,  and  thy  nature  still  th«  same* 


Lasting  thy  .am^    and  URCOnsum'd  thy  fJ<ime» 

Shalt  still  survive — 

Shalt  stand  l»efor«  the  host  of  hoav'n  confesU 

For  ever  blessing,  and  for  ever  blest.  FKU 

SECTION  VII. 

Picture  of  a  s^ood  man, 

1.  SoMS  anj;el  guide  my  pencil,  while  I  draw. 
What  nothing  else  than  angel  can  exceed, 
A  man  on  earth  devoted  to  the  skk's; 
Like  ships  at  sea,  while  in,  above  the  world. 

With  aspect  mild,  and  elevated  eye, 
Jiehold  him  seated  on  a  mount  serene. 
Above  tile  fogs  of  sense,  \m\  nassion's  storm; 
All  the  black  cares,  an-d  tumults  of  tliis  life, 
Like  harmless  thunders,  breaking  at  his  feet, 
Excite,  his  pity,  not  impair 'lis  {)ea^t;. 

£.  Karth's  genuine  sons,  Uie  sceptred,  and  the  slave, 
A  mingled  mob  !  a  wand'rins;  herd  !  he  sees, 
BewikferM  in  the  vale  ;  in  iiX\  unlike  ! 
His  full  reverse  in  all  I   What  high«-r  praise  ^ 
What  stronger  demonstratioii  of  the  rii^iU  ? 

The  prnsi'nt  a!)  their  care;  the  future  his; 
Wlien  nuhlic  welfare  calls,  or  private  want, 
Thev  give  "o  fune  ;   his  bounty  he  conceals. 
'I'heir  virtues  '  arnish  nature;  his  t^xalt. 
•Mankind's  esteem  they  court;  atid  he  his  own. 

8.  Theirs  the  wild  chase  of  false  felicities  ; 
His,  the  composed  |)OSHcssion  of  the  true. 
Alike  throughout  is  his  consistent  piece» 
All  of  one  colour,  and  antiven  thread; 
Wliile  party-culour'd  shades  of  hMj)))ines9, 
With  hideous  gaps  between,  patch  up  for  them 
A  madman's  robe  ;  each  ])i:frof  fortune  blowa 
Their  tatters  l)y,  and  shows  their  nakedness. 

4.      He  sees  with  other  eyes  than  theirs  ;  where  XhxSJ 
Behold  a  sun,  he  spies  a  Deity  ; 
What  makes  them  only  smile,  makes  him  adore* 
Where  they  see  mountains,  he  but  atoms  se^^ 
An  empire  in  his  balance,  weighs  a  ^raia. 
They  things  terrestrial  worship  as  divine: 
Kis  Iiopes  immortal  blow  them  by,  as  dust. 
That  dims  his  sight  and  shortens  his  surrej* 
Wiiich  lon^s,  in  iri^nite,  to  loose  all  bound 
X  ft 


,6.  Titles  and  honours  (if  they  prove  his  fktc) 
He  lays  aside  to  ihui  his  dignity ; 
No  dif^nity  they  find  in  anj^ht  het^ides. 
They  triumph  in  externals,  (which  conceal 
Man's  real  glory,)  proud  ot*  an  eclipse  : 
Himself  too  much  ne  prizes  to  be  proud  ; 
And  nothing;  thinks  so  |i;reat  in  man,  as  man, 
Tot)  dear  he  holds  his  int'rest,  to  neglect 
Another's  welfare  or  his  ri^ht  invade  ; 
Their  int'rest,  like  a  lion,  lives  on  prey. 

6.  They  kindle  at  the  shadow  of  a  wrong  ; 
Wrongs  he  sustains  ^vith  temper,  looks  on  heay'o, 
Nor  stoops  to  think  his  injurer  his  foe  : 

Nought,  but  whatAvounds  his  virtue,  wounds  hi* peace. 
A  cover'd  heart  their  character  defends; 
A  cover'd  heart  denies  him  half  his  praise. 

7.  With  nakedness  his  innocence  agrees! 
While  their  hioji^  foliage  testifies  their  fall ! 
Their  no-joys  end»  where  his  full  feast  begins: 
His  joys  create,  theirs  murder,  future  bliss. 
To  triumph  in  existence,  his  alone  ; 

And  his  alone  triumphantly  to  think 
His  true  existence  is  not  jet  begun. 
His  jjlorious  coui-se  w^as,  yesterday^  complete  : 
Deaths  then,  w^as  welcome;  vet  life  »till  is  sweet.  TuUKO* 
SECTION  VHl. 
The  'pleasures  of  Retutment* 

1.  O  KNEW  he  but  his  happiness,  of  men  ♦ 

The  happiest  he  !  who,  far  from  public  rage, 
Deep  in  the  vale,  with  a  choice  few  retir'd, 
Drinks  the  ])ure  pleasures  of  the  rural  life. 
What  tho'  the  dome  be  wanting,  whose  proud  gate, 
Each  morning,  vomits  out  the  sneaking  crowd 
Of  flatterers  false,  and  in  their  turn  abus'd  ? 
Vile  intercourse  !    What  though  the  glitt'ring  robe. 
Of  ev'ry  hue  reflected  li<i;ht  can  give. 
Or  floated  loose,  or  stifl'with  mazy  gold. 
The  pride  and  gaze  of  fools,  oppress  him  not  ? 

1.  What  tho',  Irom  utmost  land  and  sea  purveyed, 
For  him  each  rarer  tributary  life 
Bleeds  not,  and  his  insatiate  table  heafis 
With  luxury  and  death  ?  What  tho*  his  bowl 
Flame.9  not'with  costly  juice;  nor  sunk  in  bed* 
Oft  of  gay  care,  he  tosses  out  tho  night, 
Or  melts  the  thoughtl«;:)3  hours  in  idk  state? 


Chap.  4r  pEscsiFTivR  Pieces.  flEM^ 

What  tbo*  he  knows  not  those  fi^DtastJc  joySt^ 
That  still  amuse  the  wanton,  still  deceire ; 
A  face  of  pleasure,  but  a  heart  of  pain  : 
Their  hollow  moments  undeli^hted  all? 
Sure  peace  is  his;  a  solid  life  estran^'d 
To  disappointment,  and  fallacious  hope. 

5.  Rich  in  content,  in  nature's  bounty  rich, 

In  herbs  and  fruits ;  whatever  j^reens  the  spffn^t 

When  heaven  descends  in  showers;  or  bends  the  b0U|{)-. 

When  summer  reddens,  and  when  autumn  beams  ; 

Or  in  the  wintry  {i;lebe  whatever  lies 

Conceal'd,  and  fattens  with  the  richest  sap  : 

These  are  not  wanting ;  nnr  the  milky  drove, 

Luxunant»  spread  o'er  all  the  lowinj^  vale  ; 

Nor  hleatinj^  mountains;  nor  the  chide  of  streams, 

And  hum  of  bees,  inviting  sleep  sincere 

Into  the  guiltless  breast,  beneath  the  shade, 

Or  thrown  at  large  amid  the  fragrant  hay  ; 

Nor  ought  besides  of  prospect,  grove,  or  song. 

Dim  grottos,  gleamirg  lakes,  and  fountains  clear. 

4.  Here  too  dwells  simple  truth;  plain  inaocence ; 
Unsullied  beauty  :  sound  unbroken  youth, 
Patient  of  labour,  witii  a  little  pleas'd ; 
Health  ever  blooming  ;  unambitious  toil ; 
Calm  contemplation,   and  politic  ease.  tmomsok. 

SECTION  IX. 

The  pleasure  and  henejit  of  an  improved  and  icell-dirtcte^ 
imagi  nation. 

1.  On  !  blest  of  Heaven,  who  not  the  languid  songs 
Of  luxury,  the  siren  I  not  the  bribes 
Of  sonfid  w(\ilth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils 
Of  pageant  Honour,  can  su(hice  toleave 
Those  ever  blooiuing  swe(:ts,  which,  from  the  stor« 
Of  nature,  fair  imagination  culls. 
To  charm  th'  enlivr>i'd  soul  !  What  tho*  not  all 
Of  mortal  offspring  can  attain  the  height 
Of  envy'd  life  ;  tho'  only  few  possess 
Patrician  treasures,  or  imperial  state; 
Yet  nature's  care,  to  all  her  children  ju«t, 
With  richer  treasures,  and  an  ampler  stat^ 
Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man 
Will  deign  to  us  them. 

ft.  His  the  city's  pomp, 

The  rural  honours  his.     Whate'er  adorns 
The  priacely  dome,  the  column,  as^i  the  ai^t^ 


ifBO  Engliih  Ukader.  Pari  %\ 

The  breathing  marble  and  the  sculptured  ^old, 
Beyond  tUe  ])roud  possessor's  narrow  claim, 
His  tuHeful  breast  enjoys.     For  him,  the  spring 
Distills  her  dews,  and  Irom  the  silken  gem 
Jts  lucid  leaves  unfolds :  for  him,  the  hand 
Of  autumn  tinges  every  fertile  branch 
With  bloominj^  gold,  and  blushes  like  the  morn. 
Each  passing  liour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wings  : 
And  still  new  beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk, 
And  loves  unfelt  attract  him. 

8,  Not  a  breeze 

Flies  o'er  the  meadow  ;  not  a  cloud  imbibea 

The  setting  sun's  eliulgence  ;  not  a  strain 

From  all  the  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 

Ascends  ;  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 

Fresh  pleasure,  unreprov'd.     Nor  thence  partakes 

Fresh  pleasure  only  ;  for  th'  attentive  mind, 

i^y  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers, 

J5ecome3  herself  harmonious  :  wont  so  oft 

In  outward  things  to  meditate  the  charm 

Of  sacred  order,  soon  she  seeks  at  home, 

To  lind  a  kindred  order;  to  exert 

Within  herself  this  elegance  of  love. 

This  fair  inspir'd  delight :  her  temper'd  pow'ra 

Kefine  at  lenijth  and  every  passion  wears 

A  chaster,  milder,  more  attractive  mien. 

4- But  if  to  ampler  ])rospects,  if  to  gaze 
On  natures  torm,  where,  negligent  of  all 
These  lesser  graces,  she  assumt's  tlie  port 
Of  tliat  Kternal  Majesty,  that  weigh'd 
The  world's  foundations,  if  to  these  tiie  mind 
Exalts  her  daring  eye  ;  then  mightier  far 
Will  be  the  change  and  nobler.     Would  the  fornss 
Of  servile  customs  cramp  her  gen'rous  pow'rs? 
Would  sordid  policies,  the  barb'rous  growth 
Of  ignorance  and  rapine,  bow  her  down 
To  tame  })ursuits,  to  indolence  and  fear ; 

J.  Lo  !  she  appeals  to  natu»*e,  to  the  w^inds 
And  rolling  waves,  the  sun's  unwearied  course. 
The  elements  and  seasons :  all  declare 
For  what  th'  eternal  makkr  has  ordain  d 
The  powers  of  man  :  we  feel  within  ourselves 
His  energy  divine  ;  he  tells  the  heart. 
"He  meant,  he  made  us  to  behold  and  lore 
What  he  b&holda  and  loves,  the  general  orK 


li^kap,  5.  Pathetic  Pieces.  tUt 

Of  life  and  bein^ :  to  he  p;re8.t  like  Him» 
lieneAcent  and  active.     Thus  the  men 
Whom  nature's  works  instruct,  with  God  himself 
Hold  converse  ;  jcrow  familiar,  day  by  day, 
"With  his  conceptions  ;  act  u])on  his  plan  ; 
And  form  to  his,  the  relish  of  their  souls.     akensidBm 
CHAPTER  V. 

SECTION  I. 

The  Hermit, 
I.  At  the  close  of  the  day,  ivhen  the  hamlet  h  Btill, 

And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetfulnesa  prove  ;. 
When  nouj^ht  but  the  torrent  is  neard  on  the  hill, 

And  nought  hut  the  nip^htingale's  song  in  the  groret 
*Twas  thus  by  theeave  of  the  moimtain  afar, 

While  his  harp  rung  symphonious,  a  hermit  began  ; 
No  more  with  himself  or  with  nature  at  war. 

He  thought  as  a  sage,  tho'  he  felt  as  a  man. 
t.  **  Ah  !  why,  all  abandon'd  to  darkness  and  wo; 

Why  lone  Thilomela,  that  languishing  fall  ? 
For  spring  shall  return,  and  a  lover  bestow, 

And  sorrow  no  longer  thy  bosom  inthral. 
But,  if  pity  inspire  thee,  renew  the  sad  lay. 

Mourn,  sweetest  complainer,  man  calls  thee  to  moarn; 
O  sooth  him  whose  pleasures  like  thine  pass  away : 

Full  quickly  they  pass — but  they  never  return. 
8.  **  Now  gliding  remote,  on  the  verge  of  the  sky, 

The  moon  half  extinguish'd  her  crescent  displays  c 
But  lately  I  mark'd,  when  majestic  on  high 

She  shone,  and  the  planets  were  lost  in  her  blaze. 
Roll  on,  thou  fair  orb,  and  with  gladness  pursue 

The  path  that  conducts  thee  to  splendour  again  : 
But  man's  faded  glory  what  change  shall  renew  ! 

Ah  fool !  to  exult  in  a  glory  so  vain  !" 
4.  "  *Ti8  ni^ht,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  no  more : 

1  mourn,  but  ye  woodlands,  I  mourn  not  for  you  { 
For  morn  is  approaching,  your  charms  to  restore, 

Perfum'd  witn  fresh  fragrance,  and  glitt' ring  with  dem 
Nor  yet  for  the  ravage  oi  winter  1  mourn  ; 

Kind  nature  the  embryo  blossom  will  save  : 
But  when  shall  spring  visit  the  mouldering  urn  ! 

O  when  shall  day  dawn  on  the  night  of  the  grave  f* 
&.  »*  'Twas  thus  by  the  glare  of  ftilse  science  betray' J, 

That  leads  to  bewilder ;  and  dazslej  to  blind; 


ft91  Engl  sh  Reader.  Pari  f. 

Mythoughts  w-ontto  roam,  from  shade  onward  to  shade^ 

Destruction  before  me,  and  sorrow  behind. 
O  pity,  great  Father  of  Hj?;ht,  then  1  cri'd. 

Thy  creature  who  fain  Would  not  wander  from  thee  ! 
Lo,  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  nn'  pride  : 

From  doubt  and  from  darkness  ibou  only  canst  free." 
6.  **  And  darkness  and  doubt  are  i-cv/  fiying  away; 

No  longer  1  roam  in  conjectuie  fo»iovii: 
So  breaks  on  the  traveller,  fairer  ?r.d  astray. 

The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgt^ince  of  morn. 
See  truth,  love,  and  mercy,*  in  triumph  descending. 

And  nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom  ! 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and  roses  are  Mending, 

And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb." 

BEATTIB. 

SECTION  n. 

The  Beggar'^  Petition, 
1.  Pitt  the  «©ttows  of  a  poor  old  man. 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span  ; 
Oh  !  give  relief,  and  heav'n  will  bless  your  store, 
ft.  These  tatter'd  clothes  my  poverty  bespeak. 

These  hoary  locks  proclaim  my  lengthen'd  years  ; 
And  many  a  furrow  in  my  grief-worn  cheek. 
Has  been  the  channel  to  a  flood  of  tears. 

5.  Yon  house,  erected  on  the  rising  ground, 

With  tempting  aspect  drew  me  from  my  road; 
For  plenty  there  a  residence  has  found, 

And  grandeur  a  magnificent  abode. 
4.  Hard  is  the  fate  of  the  infirm  and  poor ! 

Here  as  1  crav*d  a  morsel  of  then-  bread, 
A  pamper'd  menial  drove  me  from  the  door, 

To  geek  a  shelter  in  an  humbler  shed. 

6.  Oh  !  take  me  to  your  hospitable  dome  ; 

Keen  blows  the  wind,  and  piercing  is  t.he%old  .' 
Short  is  my  passage  to  the  friendly  tomb ; 
For  1  am  poor,  and  miserably  old. 
€.  Should  I  reveal  the  sources  of  my  grief. 
If  soft  humanity  e'er  touch'd  j^our  breast, 
Your  hands  would  not  withhold  the  kind  relief, 
And  tears  of  pity  would  not  be  represt. 

7.  Heav'n  sends  misfortunes:  why  should  we  repine  ? 

'Tis  HtSLv'n  has  brought  me  to  the  state  you  see  ; 


Chap.  ».  Pathetic  Pieces*  165 

And  your  condition  may  be  soon  like  mine,, 
The  child  of  sorrow  and  oi  misery. 

8.  A  little  farm  was  my  paternal  lot ; 

Th»»n  like  the.  lark  J  sprightly  hail'd  the  mora  : 
But  ah  !  Oppression  forc'd  me  frcni  my  cot, 
My  catt'je  died,  and  blighted  was  my  corn. 

9.  My  daughter,  ofice  the  comfort  of  my  age, 

Lurd  bv  a  vilhiln  fp^m  her  native  home. 

Is  caat  aliaiidon'd  on  the  world'r,  wide  stage, 

And  docm'd  in  scanty  poverty  to  roam. 

10.  My  tender  wife,  sweet  soother  of  my  care  ! 

Str'Jck  with  sad  anguish  a*,  the  stern  decree, 
FeU,  I'nge'ing  fell,  a  victim  to  despair; 

And  left  the  world  to  wretchedness  and  me. 

11.  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man. 

Whoso  ♦^'-pjifibhng  limbs  have  borne  him  toyoAirdoor; 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span  ; 
Oh  !  give  relief,  and  heav'n  will  bless  your  store. 
SECTION  Jli. 
Unhappy  close  of  life, 
I.  How  shocking  must  thy  sumrnon?  be,  O  Death! 
Tr.  him  that  is  at  ease  in  his  ])ossrssions  ! 
Who  counting  on  long  years  of  pleasure  here, 
}^  quite  unfurnish'd  for  the  world  to  come ! 
In  that  dread  moment,  how  the  frantic  soul 
Raves  round  the  walla  of  her  clay  tenement ; 
Runs  to  each  avenue,  and  shrieks  for  help  ; 
Rut  shrieks  in  vain  I  How  wishfully  she  looks 
Oc.  all  she's  leaving,  now  no  longer  hers  I 
t.  A.^ttle  longer ;  yet  a  little  longer ; 

O  Plight  she  stay  to  wash  away  her  stains ; 
Anu  fit  her  for  her  passage !  Mournful  sight  ! 
Her  rery  eyes  Aveep  blood  ;  and  ev'ry  groan 
She  heaves  is  big  with  horror.     Rut  the  foe, 
JJ'ie  a  staunch  murd'rer,  steady  to  his  purpose, 
Pu"'sues  her  close,  thro'  ev'ry  lane  o/  life  ; 
Nor  misses  once  the  track  ;  but  presses  on, 
Till  forc'd  at  last  to  the  tremendous  verge, 
At  once  she  sinks  to  everlasting  ruin.  R«  BLilB. 

SECTION  IV. 
Ekgy  to  Pity. 
1.  Hail,  IotcIt  pow'rl  ivhose  boaom  heaves  the  fttgh. 
When  feiTcy  paints  thf  8€«ne  of  deep  diBtress ; 


i(4  £27«LisH  Reader  Fart  t.  L 

^Vhose  tears  spontaneous  crystallize  the  eye, 
When  rigid  fate  denies  the  pow'r  to  bless. 
C«  Not  all  the  sweets  Arabia's  gales  convey 

From  flow'ry  meads,  can  with  that  sij];h  conapar© ; 
Not  dew-drops  glittering  in  the  morning  ray,  j 

Seen  near  so  beauteous  as  that  falling  tear*  Jj 

5.  Devoid  of  fear,  the  fawns  around  thee  play ; 
Emblem  of  peace,  the  dove  before  thee  'flies  ; 
Wo  blood-stain'd  traces  mark  thy  blameless  way, 
Beneath  thy  feet  no  hapless  insect  dies  ; 
4.  Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  range  the  mead  with  me, 
To  spring  the  partridge  from  the  guileful  foe ; 
From  secret  snares  the  struggling  bird  to  free  : 
And  stop  the  hand  uprais'd  to  give  the  blow. 
I.  And  when  the  air  with  heat  meridian  glows, 

And  nature  droops  beneath  the  conq'ring  gleam, 
I^t  us,  slow  wand'ring  where  the  current  Hows, 
Save  sinking  flies  that  float  along  the  stream. 
6    Or  turn  to  nobler,  greater  tasks  thy  care, 
To  me  thy  sympathetic  gifts  impart ; 
Teach  me  in  friendship'^  griefs  to  bear  a  share, 
And  justly  boast  the  gen'rous  feeling  heart. 
7.  Teach  me  to  sooth  the  helpless  orphan's  grief ; 
With  timely  aid  the  widow's  woes  assuage ; 
To  mis'ry's  moving  cries  to  yield  relief; 
And  be  the  sure  resource  of  drooping  age. 
t.  So  when  the  genial  spring  of  life  shall  fade, 
And  sinking  nature  own  the  dread  decay, 
Borne  soul  congenial  then  may  lend  its  aicf, 
And  gild  the  close  of  life's  eventful  day. 
SECTION  V. 
ferses  supposed  to  be  written  hy  Alexander  Selkir/c,  during 
his  solitary  abode  in  the  Island  of  Juan  Fernandez, 
1.  1  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey. 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute  ; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea, 

1  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 
Oh  solitude  !  where  are  the  charms. 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face? 
Better  dwell  ^n  the  midst  of  alarms, 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 
£  1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 
1  must  ^nish  my  journey  alone  ; 


Chap^    5.  rATHETIC    FlECES.  €M 

;     Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech 
{         1  start  ut  the  sound  of  tny  own.  '  « 

1     The  beasts  that  voixm  over  the  plain,  / 

i         My  form  with  indillerentvi  see  : 
They  are  ho  unacquainted  with  man, 
Their  taaieiitiss  is  shocking  to  me* 

3.  Society,  friendship,  and  love, 

Divinely  bestow'd  upon  man, 
Oh  had  1  the  wings  of  a  dove, 

How  soon  would  1  taste  you  n^ain  ! 
My  sijrrows  1  tiu^n  inis;ht  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  reii<^ion  and  truth  ; 
Mij^ht  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age, 

And  be  cheer'd  by  the  saihes  of  youth 

4.  Religion  !  what  treasure  untold 

Resides  in  that  heavenly  word  ! 
More  j)recious  than  silver  or  gold. 

Or  ail  that  this  earth  can  aflnrd. 
hut  the  sound  of  the  church-going  bell 

These  vallies  and  rocks  never  heard  ; 
JNe'er  sigh'd  at  the  sound  of  a  knell,  t 

Or  smil'd  when  a  sidbbath  appeared. 
6.  Ye  winds  that  have  made  me  your  sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  HJitU'e, 
Some  cordial  en<learing  report 

Of  a  land  1  shall  viiiit  no  more. 
My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

*A  wish  ur  a  thought  after  me  ? 
O  tell  me  1  yet  have  a  friend, 

Thougii  a  friend  1  am  never  to  see. 

6.  How  fleet  is  a  ghmce  of  the  mind  ! 

Compar'd  with  the  speed  of  its  flight* 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind. 

And  the  swift-wing'd  arrows  of  light. 
When  1  think  of  my  own  native  land, 

In  a  momei't  I  seem  to  he  there  ; 
But,  alas  !  rec(>llcGtion  at  hand 

Soon  hiu-ries  me  back  to  despair. 
T,  But  the  sea-fowl  is  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 

And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There's  merry  in  every  place  ; 

And  meny — enccjriiging  thought*  ■  ^^^ 


English  Reader.  Pari  % 

OfTM  «yefl  afOlction  a  g;race, 
And  reconciles  m,in  to  his  lot*  cowp*«. 

SECTION  VI. 

Gratitude. 
1.  When  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God  ! 

My  rising  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view,  I'm  lost 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 
t.  O  how  shall  words,  with  equal  warmth, 
The  gratitude  declare, 
That  glows  within  my  ravished  heart? 
But  thou  canst  read  it  there. 
9.  Thy  Providence  my  life  sustained. 
And  all  my  wants  red  rest, 
When  in  the  silent  womh  I  lay, 
And  hung  upon  the  hreast. 
4.  To  all  my  weak  complaints  and  cries, 
Thy  mercy  lent  an  ear, 
Bre  yet  my  feehl«  thoughts  had  learned 
To  form  themselves  in  pray'r. 
9>  Unnumher'd  comforts  to  my  soul 
Thy  tender  care  bestow'd, 
I^efore  my  infant  heart  conceived 
From  whom  those  comforts  flow'd. 
6.  When,  in  the  slipp'ry  paths  of  youth, 
With  heedless  steps,  I  ran, 
Thine  arm,  unseen,  convey 'd  me  safe, 
And  led  me  up  to  man. 
T.  Througli  hidden  dangers,  tolls,  and  deaths, 
It  gently  clear'd  rny  way  ; 
And  through  the  pleasing  snares  of  vice. 
More  to  be  ftar'd  than  they. 
8.  When  worn  with  sickness,  oft  hast  thou. 
With  health  renew'd  my  face  ; 
And,  when  in  sins  and  sorrows  sunk, 
Reviv'd  my  soul  with  grace. 
•.  Thy  bounteous  hand,  with  worldly  bliss. 
Has  made  my  cup  run  oV ; 
And,  in  a  kind  and  faithful  friend, 
Has  doubled  all  my  store. 
FO.  Ten  thousand  thousand  preaous  gifts 

My  daily  thanks  employ  ;  ' 


Cht^*  •.  Pathetic  pieces.  fttf 

Nor  Is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart 
That  tastes  those  ji^ifts  with  joy. 
11.  Through  ev'ry  period  of  my  life, 
Thy  goodness  I'll  pursue  : 
And,  aftc^r  death,  in  distant  worlds, 
The  glorious  theme  renew. 
It.  When  nature  f<\ils,  and  day  and  night 
Divide  thy  works  no  more, 
My  ever-gratc.ful  heart,  O  Lord  I 
Thy  mercy  shall  adore. 

13.  Througb  'd!  eternity^  to  thee 
A  iovful  song  I'll  raise,, 
For  i)  ?  eternity's  too  short 

To  utter  all  thy  praise.  iDDisoir. 

SECTION  VII. 

A  man  perishini]^  in  the  snoir ;  from  whence  reflections  m% 
raised  on  the  7niserks  of  life. 

l.As  thus  the  snows  arise  ;  and  foul  anci  fierce 
All  winter  drives  aionijthe  darken'd  air  ; 
in  his  own  loose  revolving  field  the  swain 
DisasterM  stands  ;  sees  ctluM'  hills  ascend. 
Of  unknown  joyless  hrow;  and  other  scenes, 
Of  horrid  prospect,  snag  the  trackless  plain* 
Nor  finds  the  river,  nor  1  he  forest,  hid 
Beneath  the  formless  wild  ;  hut  w^anders  on, 
From  hill  to  dale,  ^till  more  and  more  astray 
Impatient  flouncing  throu^li  th^drifted  hea]>s, 
Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home;  the  thoughts  ofhoDM 
Rush  on  his  nerves,  and  call  their  vigour  forth 
In  many  a  vain  attempt. 

S.  How  sinks  his  soul  ! 

What  black  despair,  what  liorror  fills  his  heart 
When  for  the  dusky  spot,  which  fanc)'  feign'd 
His  tufted  cottage  rising  through  the  snow, 
He  meets  the  roughness  of  the  middle  waste, 
Far  from  the  track  and  hiest  abode  of  man ; 
While  round  him  night  resistless  closes  fast, 
And  ev'ry  tempest  howling  o'er  his  head. 
Renders  the  savage  wilderness  more.  wild. 

5.  Then  throng  the  busy  shapes  into  his  mind, 
Of  cover'd  -pits,  unfathomaol}'  deep,   . 
A  dire  descent,,  beyond  the  pow'r  of  frost ! 
Of  faithless  bogs  ;  of  precipices  huge, 
'  Smooth'd  up  with  snow  ;  and  what  h  land,  unknown, 


•ffl  ENGLISH  Reader.  Fitri  t 

Whiit  water,  of  the  still  unfrozen  spring. 

In  the  loose  inwrsh  or  solitary  lake, 

Where  the  fresli  fomitain  from  the  bottom  boils. 

4.  These  check  Iiis  fearful  steps  ;  and  down  he  sinks 
P.eneatli  the  siiclter  of  the  shapeless  drift, 
Thinkinj;  o'er  ail  the  bitterness  of  death, 
IMix'd  with  the  tender  anguish  nature  shoots 
Tlirojji;h  the  wrung  boso!n  of  the  dying  man, 
His  wife,  his  children,  atid  his  friends  tinseen. 
In  vain  for  himth'  oflicious  wife  prepares 
The  fire  fair-blazing,  and  the  vestment  warm'; 

h»  In  vain  his  little  children,  peeping  oul, 
*      Into  the  mingled  storm,  demand  their  sire, 
With  tears  of  artless  innocence.     Alas! 
Nor  wife,  nor  children,  more  shall  he  behold; 
Nor  friends,  nor  sacred  home.     On  every  nerY« 
The  deadly  w  inter  seizes  ;  shuts  up  sense  ; 
And,  o'er  his  inmost  vitals  ci'eej)ing  cold, 
l^ays  him  along  the  snows  a  stiffen'd  corse, 
Stretch 'd  out  and  bleaching  in  the  northern  blast. 

f.  Ah,  little  think  the  gay  licentious  proud, 

Whom  pleasure,  ])ow'r,  and  alTluence  surround; 

They  who  their  thoughtless  hours  in  giddy  mirth, 

And  wanton,  often  cruel  riot,  waste  ; 

Ah  little  ttiink  they,  while  they  dance  along. 

How  many  feel,  this  very  moment,  death, 

And  all  the  sad  variety  of  pain  ! 

H^w  many  sink  in, the  devouring  flood, 

Or  more  devouring  llame  !  How  many  bleed, 

By  shameful  variance  betwixt  man  and  man! 

T.  flow  many  pine  in  want  and  dungeon  glooms, 
Siiut  fronitbe  common  air,  and  common  use 
Of  their  own  limbs  !  How  many  drink  the  cup 
Of  baleful  grief,  or  eat  the  bitter  bread 
Of  misery  !  Sore  pierc'd  by  wintry  winds, 
How  many  shrink  into  the  sordid  hut 
Of  cheerless  poverty!  liow  many  shake 
With  all  the  fiercer  tortures  of  the  mind, 
Unbounded  passion,  madness,  guilt,  remorse ! 

fsHow  many,  rack'd  with  honest  j)assions,  droop 
J-n  deep.Tetir'd  distress!  How  many  stand 
Around  the  death- bed  of  their  dearest  friends, 
And  point  the  parting  anguisii !     Thought  fond  man 
Of  these,  and  all  tiie  thousand  nameless  ills, 
That  one  incessant  strugjrle  render  life, 


(7Ae^.  ft.  Pathetic  Tiecrs.  tilJF 

One  Fcene  of  toil,  of  suffiM'in<;,  and  of  Tate, 
Vice  in  his  hij;U  career  would  stand  appatl'd, 
I      And  heedless  rambling  impulse  learn  to  think  5 
[     The  coiiscious'heart  of  eharity  would  vrarm,. 
And  her  wide  ^v»sli  benevolence  dilate  ; 
The  social  tear  would  rise,  llie  social  sigh  ; 
And  into  clear  perfection,  gradual  bliKS, 
Kefining  still,  tne  social  passions  work.  THOifttiNl 

SECTION   WllL 
A  inoniinf^  hymn, 

1.  Thkse  are  thy  glorious  woi*ks,  parent  of  good« 
Almighty,  tbine  this  universal  frame, 
fhus  wond'rous  fair:  thyself  bow  wond'rous  theai 
Unspeakable,  who  sitt'st  alxjvc  iUiiae  Ijeav^us 
To  us,  invisiblle,  or  dimly  seen 
In  these  thy  hxwer  worlls  ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  artd  pow'r  dtvloe. 

f.  Speak  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  lights 
Angels  ;  for  ye  behold  him,  and  witli  songs 
And  choral  cymphonies,  day  uitliout  nighty 
Circl'j  his  throne  rejoicing  ;  ye,  in  lieav'n, 
On  earth,  join  all  ye  cn-atures  to  extol 
liim  first,  iliin  last,  ilim  midst,  and  without  end* 

d.  Fairest  of  star^-,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn. 
Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown'st  the  smiling  ni»»r» 
With  thy  bright  circh-.t,  praisi;  him  in  thy  spheri»» 
VVhil.'s  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 
Thou  sunV  of  this  great  \voi-l(J,  both  rye  and  smil, 
AcknowU;dge  him  thy  greatei',  sound  his  praise 
\n  thy  eternal  cc)nrse,  both  wiiwi  thou  rlimb'sl. 
And  when  high  noon  hast  gainM,  and  when  than  f^ill't* 

4.  Moon,  that  now  meetst  th«'  orient  sun,  now  Oy'sl, 
With  the  fix'd  stars,  fix'd  in  their  orb  that  flies  ; 
And  ye  five  other  wand'ring  iires  that  move 
In  mystic  dance,  not  without  song,  resourid 
His  prai'ie,  who  out  of  darkness  call'tJ  up  light. 
Air,  and  ye  elements,  the  eldest  birth 
Of  nature's  womb,  thnt  in  (|uaterrjion  run 
i'ernetual  circle,  mnltiforni,  and  mix 
Ana  nourish  all  things;  lei:  your  ceaseless  ehftng*  n 

Vary  to  our  gre-it  makkr  stili  new  praise. 

h.  Ye  mists  and  exhalations  that  now  rise 
From  hill  or  streaming  lake,  dusky  or  gray. 
Till  the  sun  paint  your  iJltiWv  skirU  with  ^  -* 
Y  a." 


VO  English  Rkadkh.  Arl*"i6% 

Id  honour  of  the  world's  f;reat  author  risef 
Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  ih'  uncoloiir'd  skyv 
Or  wet  the  thirsty  *%irth  with  falling  showVs, 
Rfsing  or  falling  ^still  advance  his  praise. 

6.  His  praise,  ye  winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 
.Breathe  soft  or  loud  ;  and  wave  your  tops,  yc  p-ines. 
With  ev'ry  plant  in  si^n  of  w'orsf.ip  wave. 
Fountains,  and  yethatwarbie  as  ye  flow 
Melodious  mui-niurs,  warblinj^  tune  his  praise. 

Join  voices,  all  ye  livinj^;  s.4)ids;  ye  birds 

That  sinj;in>^,  u\y  to  heaven's  I'^ate  ascend, 

Bear  on  your  winj^s  and  in  your  notes  his  praise* 

7.  Ye  that  m  waters  g:Iide,  and  ye  that  walk 
Tile  earth,  and  stately  tread,  o-r  lowly  creep  ; 
Witness  if]  he  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade 

Made  vocal  by  my  song:,  and  taupjht  his  praisev 

Hail,  UNiVKiisAL  Lord  !  he  bounteous  still 

To  give  us  only  good  ;  and  if  the  night 

Has  gather'd  aught  of  evil,  or  conceal'd, 

Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark.         HiXTOI 

CHAPTER  Vi. 

SECTION  1. 

Ode  to  content, 
%•  O  Thou,  the  rtymph  with  placid  eye  ! 
O  seldom  found,  yet  ever  nigh  ! 
Receive  my  temp'rate  vow  : 
Not  all  thd  storms  that  shake  the  pole 
Can  e'er  disturb  thy  halcyon  soul, 
And  smooth,  unalter'd  brow. 
9L,  O  come,  in  sim})lest  vest  array'd. 
With  all  thy  sober  cheer  disnlay'd, 

To  bless  my  longing  signt; 

Thy  mien  co!Yip)os'd,  thy  even  pace. 

Thy  meek  r^jgard,  thy  matron  grace, 

And  chaste  subdu'd  delight. 

5.  No  ^nore  by  varying  nassions  beat, 

O  gently  guide  my  pilgrim  feet 

To  find  thy  hermit  cell ; 
Where  in  some  pure  and  equal  dcy, 
Beneath  thy  soft  indulgent  tye,  .'1' 

The.  mode&t  virtues  dwelk  ,^_- 


^  FbOMISCUOUS    Pi£C£8.  ^4|^ 

,  '.  -  - 

C  BlmpUcity  In  attic  vest, 

Ana  innocence,  with  candid  breast. 

And  clear  undaunted  eye  ;  ^ 

And  Hof)e,  who  points  to  distant  yeare* 
Fair  op'ning  thro'  this  vale  of  tear^ 

A  vista  to  the  sky. 
K  There  Health,  thro'  whose  calm  bosom  glkte 
The  temperate  joys  in  even  tide, 

That  rarely  ebb  or  flow  ; 
And  patience  there,  thy  sister  meek. 
Presents  her  mild,  unvarying  cheek, 

To  meet  the  t)ffer'd  blow. 

0.  Her  influence  taught  the  Phrygian  sagt  Jly 
A  tyrant  master's  wanton  rage. 

With  settled  smiles,  to  meet : 
InurM  to  toil  and  bitter  bread. 
He  bow'd  his  meek  submitted  head, 
And  kiss'd  thy  sainted  feet 
T.  But  thou,  O  nymph,  retir'd  and  coy. 
In  what  brown  hamfet  dost  thou  joy 

To  tell  thy  tender  talc  ?  I 

The  lowliest  children  of  the  grouftd,  I 

Moss-rose  and  violet  blossom  rouufd. 
And  lily  of  the  vale. 
S.  O  say  what  soft  propitious  hour 
1  best  may  choose  to  hail  thy  pow'f, 

And  court  thy  gentle  sway  ? 
Wlien  autumn,  friendly  to  the  muae,^ 
Shall  thy  own  modest  tints  difluse. 
And.  shed  thy  milder  day  ? 
4    When  eve,  her  dewy  star  beneath. 
Thy  balmy  spirit  loves  to  breathe, 

And  ev'ry  storm  is  hid  ? 
If  snch  an  hour  was  e'er  thy  choice 
Oft  let  me  hear  thy  soothing  voice. 
Low  whisp'ring  through  the  shade. 
SECTIOiY  n. 
21ie  shepherd  and  the  philosopher, 

1.  Remote  from  oities  liv'd  a  swain, 
Unvcx'd  with  all  the  cares  of  gain ; 
His  head  was  silver'd  o  er  with  age, 
And  long  experience  made  him  sa^«  ; 
1q  summer's  htat  and  winter's  cola,  " 
He  fed  his  flock  and  peun'd  the  faldfl 
Uis  houfs  in  chcetsful  labour  flew^ 


English  Header.  l^art  f    ^ 

Nor  envy  nor  ambition  knew  : 

His  wiscfom  and  his  honest  fame 

Through  all  iha  country  rais'd  his  name. 

A  deep  philosopher  (whose  rules 

Of  moral  life  were  drawn  from  schools) 

The  shepherd's  hornely  cottage  sought, 

Andthius  explor'd  his  reach  of  thought. 

**  Whence  is  thy  learning  ?  Hath  thy  toil 
O'er  books  consuin'd  the  midnight  oil  ? 
Hast  thou  o}d  Greece  and  Rome  survey*d» 
And  the  v»\st  sense  of  Plato  weighed  ? 
Hath  Socrates  thy  soul  refin'd, 
And  hast  thou  fathom'd  Tolly's  mind? 
Or,  like  the  wise  Ulysses,  thrown, 
By  various  fates,  oi  realms  unknown. 
Hast  thou  through  many  cities  stray'd, 
Their  customs,  laws,  and  manners  wcigh'i* 
k  The  shepherd  modestly  rephed, 
**  1  ne*er  the  paths  of  learning  tried  ; 
Nor  have  I  roam'd  in  fT>reign  parts, 
TBo  read  mankind,  their  lawo  and  arts  , 
For  man  is  practis'd  in  disguise. 
He  cheats  the  most  discerning  eyes. 
Who  by  that  search  shall  wiser  grow  7 
IW  that  ourselves  we  never  know. 
Tne  little  knowledge  1  have  gain'd, 
Was  all  from  simple  nature  drainM  ; 
Hence  my  life's  maxims  took  their  risi*. 
Hence  ^rew  my  settled  hate  of  vice. 
.   The  daily  labours  of  the  bee 
Awake  my  soul  to  industry. 
Who  can  observe  the  careTul  ant. 
And  not  provide  for  future  want? 
Mr  doj^  (the  trustiest  of  his  kind) 
With  gratitude  inflames  my  mind  : 
1  mark  his  true,  his  laithful  way, 
And  in  my  service  copy  Tray, 
In  constancy  and  nuptial  love, 
J  learn  my  duty  from  the  dove. 
The  hen,  who  from  the  chilly  air, 
With  pious  wing,  protects  her  care» 
And  ev'ry  fowl  that  flies  at  large, 
Instructs  me  in  a  parent's  ciiarge." 
•   **  From  nature  too  1  take  my  rule, 
To  shun  contempt  and  ridieuk. 


iShofK  5  Promiscuous  PiECfs.  tT#' 

1  ntve.r,  witU  Important  air,  < 

In  conversatii>ii  overbear. 

Can  pjravc  and  forma)  pas3  for  wlso, 

WhtMi  men  the  solemn  owl  despise  / 

My  ton;;ue  within  my  lips  1  rein  ;  \ 

For  who  talks  much  must  talk  in  vain. 

We  from  the  wordy  torrent  fly  : 

Who  listens  to  the  ehatt'rinj;  pyc  ? 

Nor  would  1,  with  felonious  ilight, 

IJy  stealth  invade  my  neighbour's  right ; 
S.Rapaeious  animals  we  hate  ; 

Kites,  hawks,  and  wolves,  deserve  their  fatfc 

Do  not  we  just  abhorrence  find 

Against  the  load  and  serpent  kind  1 

But  envy,  calumn5%  and  spite. 
^     Bear  stronger  venom  in  their  bite. 

Thus  ev'ry  object  of  creation 

Can  furnish  hints  to  contemplation; 

And  from  the  most  minute  and  mean, 

A  virluous  mitul  can  morals  j;lean." 
7.  **  Thy  fame  is  just,"  the  sap:e  replies; 

**Thy  virtue  j)roves  thee  truly  wise. 

Pride  often  {guides  the  author's  pen, 
*  "Books  as  allected  are  as  men  : 

But  he  Avho  studies  nature's  laws, 

From  certain  truth  his  maxims  draws; 

And  those,  without  our  schools,  auf!ic» 

To  make  men  moral,  j;ood.  a  nd  wise,"  CAf  • 

SECTION  11. 

The  road  to  happiness  open  to  all  men, 
(>H  happiness!  our  being's  end  and  aim  ! 
Good,  pleasure,  ease,  content  I  Whate'er  thy  name  I 
That  somelhiu};  still  which  prompts  th'  eternal  figlk 
For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to  die  : 
Which  still  so  near  us,  yet  bevond  us  lies, 
O'erlook'd,  seen  double,  by  tFie  fool  and  wise ; 
Plant  of  celestial  seed,  if  uropt  below, 
Saif',  in  what  mortal  soil  thou  deign'st  to  grow? 
Fair  op'nin<;  to  some  court's  pro])itious  shine, 
Or  deep  with  diamonds  in  the  flaming  mine  ? 
Twin'd  with  the  wreath-i  Parnassian  laurels  yicl<l« 
Or  reap'd  in  iron  harvests  of  the  field  ? 
Wliere  ^rows  1  where  grows  it  not  ?  if  vain  our  toli 
We  ougrit  to  blame  the  culture,  not  the  soil. 


C7I  E.VGL18H  Ueadeiu  /Vrl  ti 

Flxd  te  rvo  8|)otls  happiness  sincere;; 
'^V'iS  no  irhere  to  be  lound,  or  ev'ry  where; 
•Tis  n^trtT  to  be  l)oiJght,  but  al\vay»?i  free ; 
And,  fled  from  n:i(»tuirchs,  St.  John  I  dwells  with  th 
6.  Ask  of  the  learnM  ihe  way.     The  learnM  are  blind  .^ 
This  bids  to  serve,  and  that  to  shun  mankind  : 
Some  place  the  bliss  in  action,  some  in  ease  ; 
Those  call  it  pleasure,  and  contentment  these 
Some  sunk  to  beasts,  find  pleasure  end  in  pain; 
Some  sweli'd  to  gods,  confess  ev'n  virtue  vain; 
Or  indolent,  to  each  extreme  they  fall. 
To  trust  in  ev'ry  thinp;,  or  doubt  of  alj. 
4.  Who  thus  define  it,  say  .they  more  or  less 
Than  this,  that  happiness  is'happiness  ? 
Take  nature's  path,  and  mad  opinions  leave  ; 
All  states  can  reach  it,  and  all  heads  conceive  : 
Obvious  her  aoods,  in  no  extreme  they  dwell ; 
There  needs  but  thinkinj^  ri}z;!it,  and- meaning*  weil^; 
And  mourn  our  various  portions  as  we  please^ 
Kqiiai  is  common  sense,  and  common^  ease. 

Kemember,  man,  "  the  universal  cause 
•*  Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  gen'ral  laws  •/*' 
And  makes  what  happiness  we  justly  call, 
Subsist  not  in  the  good  of  one,  but  alL  W^W3 

SECTION   IV; 
TVie  goodness  of  Providence^ 
1.  The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare^- 

And'  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care  ;. 

His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply.,. 

And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye  ^ 

My  noon-day  walks  he  shall  attend,. 

And  all  my  midnight  hours  defend, 
ft.  When  in  the  sultry  glebe  1  faint, 

Or  on  the  thirsty  mountains  pant  ; 

To  fertile  vales,  and  dewy  meads, 

Mv  weary  wand'ring  steps  he  leads  : 

Where  peaceful  rivers,  soft  and  slow, 

Amid  the  verdant  landscape  flow. 
9.  Tho'  in  the  paths  of  death  1  tread» 

With  gloomy  horrors  overspread, 

My  steadfast  heart  shall  fear  no  ill ; 

J  or  thou,  O  Lord,  art  with  me  still  ; 

'i  hy  friendly  crook  shall  give  me  aid, 

A  nd  guide  me  through  the  dreadful  shade. 


4.  Tho'  in  a  bare  and  rugged  way, 
Through  devious  Jonely  wilds  1  stray. 
Thy  bounty  shall  my  pains  beguile  ; 
The  barren  wilderness  shall  smile. 
With  sudden  greens  and  herbage  crowM*d, 
And  streams  siiall  murmur  all  around.      ▲bikI^M# 

SECTION  V. 

The  Creator's  works  attest  his  grtatn€d$^ 
l»  TifE  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky. 

And  spangled  heav'ns  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  original  proclaim  : 

Th*  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 

Does  his  Creator's  pow'r  disp^fciy, 

And  publishes  to  ev'ry  land, 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 
t«  Soon>a3  the  evening  shades  prevail. 

The  moon  takes  up  the  wond'rous  ta]o^ 

And,  nightly,  to  the  list'ning  earth. 

Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  : 

Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  buni^ 

And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 

Confirm  the  tid    gs  as  they  roll, 

And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pobK 
6.  What  though  in  solemn  silence,  all 

Move  rouna  the  dark  terrestrial  ball  y 

What  tho*  nor  real  voice  nor  sound. 

Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ! 

In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejojce. 

And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 

Forever  singing  as  they  shine, 

•♦The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine.** 


SECTION  VI. 
An  address  to  fheDeityi 

!•  O  THOU  !  whose  balance  does  the  mountains 
Whose  will  the  wild  tumultuous  seas  obey  ; 
Whose  breath  can  turn  those  WatVy  worlds  It  iM 
That  flame  to  tempest,  and  that  tempest  (MBa  ; 
Earth's  meanest  son,  all  trembling,  prostrate  l^iiS^ 
And  on  the  boundless  of  thy  goodness  eal^A. 

!•  O !  give  the  winds  all  past  offence  lo  twtt^. 
To  tcatter  wide,  or  !>ui^  in  the  deof « 


ftf?(j  E^^GLISH  Kkadek.  fart 

Thy  powV,  my  weaknesr.,  may  I  ever  see^ 

Ariu  wholly  dedicate  my  boul  to  tbee. 

Keign  o'er'my  will ;  my  passions  ebb  and  flow 

At  Iny  commatid,  nor  iuiman  motive  know  ! 

it'  anj^er  bois  let  anj^er  be  niy  ))raise, 

And  sin  the  graceful  indij^nalion  raise. 

Wy  love  be  warm  to  s-uei:uur  the  distressed, 

And  lift  tlie  burden  from  the  soul  0}»press'd. 
B.  O  may  my  understandinj^  ever  read 

This  gk)rious  volume  wluch  thy  wisdom  made  ! 

May  sea  and  land,  and  earth  and  heav'n  be;oin*d. 

To  bring  th'  eternal  Author  to  niy  mind  ! 

\Vk:;n  oceans  roar,  or  awfui  thunder's  roll. 

May  thoughts  of  thy  dread  vengeance  shake  my  sou 

When  earth's  in  bloom,  or  planets  prtiudly  sliine, 

Adore,  my  heart,  the  Miijesty  divine  ^ 
4.  Grant  1  niay  ever  at  the  morning  ray. 

Open  with  pray'r  the  consecrated  day; 

Tun*  thy  griiat  i^raise,  and  bid  my  soul  arise^ 

And  with  the  mounting  sun  ascend  the  skies ; 

As  that  advances,  let  my  zeal  improve, 

And  glow  with  ardour  of  consummate  love  ; 

Nor  cea^-e  at  eve,  but  with  the  setting  sun 

My  endless  worship  shall  be  still  begun. 
d.  And  oh  !  permit  the  gloom  of  solemn  night. 

To  sacred  thought  may  forcibly  invite. 

When  this  world's  shut,  ar.d  awful  planets  rise. 

Call  on  our  minds,  and  raise  tliem  to  the  skies ; 

Compose  our  souis  with  a  less  dazzling  sight, 

And  show  all  nature  in  a  milder  light ; 

How  evVy  boist'rous  thought  in  calm  subsides  ! 

How  the  smooth'd  spirit  into  goodness  glides! 
(.  Oh  how  divine!  to  tread  the  milky  way, 

To  the  bright  palace  of  the  Lord  of  Day; 

His  court  admire,  or  for  ins  favour  sue, 

Or  leagues  of  friendship  with  his  saints  renew  ; 

Pleas'd  to  l(»ok  down  and  see  the  world  asleep  ; 

While  1  long  vigils  to  its  F'oander  keen ! 

Canst  thou  not  .shake  the  ceuire  I  Oh  control* 

Subdue  by  force,  the  rebel  in  my  soul ; 

Thou  w^ho  canst  still  the  raging'of  the  flood, 

Kestrain  the  various  tumults  of  my  blood  ; 

Teach  me,  with  equal  fuinness,  to  siistam 

Alluring  pleasure,  anu  aiJsauUing  pain. 
?.'  O  may  1  pant  for  thee  in  each  desire! 

And  with  strong  faith  foment  the  holy  fire  I 


Strolch  out  my  soul  \n  hope,  nnd  gragp  the  |>rfze. 
Which  in  olernity's  dt'.ep  bosom  lics  I 
At  the  r;rcat  day  of  reromp<nse  b<'ho!d. 
Devoid  of  fear,  the  fatal  hook  unf')!d  ! 
Then  wafted  upward  to  the  blissSid  Siist, 
From  a{^e  to  aj;e  my  gratefvd  bonj^  rejH;at  ; 
My  Li|5lit,  my  Life, 'my  CJod,  my  S<iviour  »ce, 
And  rival  angels  in  the  praise  ul'  thcu  1  TO«JN0* 

SKCTION  VIJ. 
The  pursuit  of  happiness  often  ill'diticttd^ 

1.  The  midnight  moon  .serenely  smiles 

O'er  nature's  soft  repoSe  ; 
No  low'rinj;  cloud  obscures  the  shy» 
Nor  ruftlinj;  tem]*<'St  btows. 

2.  Now  ev'ry  passion  sinks  to  rest, 

The  thronbinj;  heait  He«  still; 
And  varyinp;  schem«*s  of  life,  no  mor* 
Distract  the  labouring  will. 

3.  Id  silence  hnsh'd  to  reason's  voice, 

Attends  each  mental  puw'r : 
Coine,  dear  Emelia,  and  enjoy 
Kellection's  fav'ritc  hour. 

4.  Come;  while  the  peact.'ful  scene  invites. 

Lot's  Hcarcii  this  ample  round  ; 
Where  sliall  the  lovely  Heeling  form 

Of  happiness  be  found  / 
j.  Does  it  amidst  the  frolic  mirth 

Of  gay  assemblies  dwell ; 
Or  hide  beneath  the  solemn  glooin* 

That  shades  the  hermit's  cell '/ 
6.  How  oft  the  laughing  brow  of  joy 

A  sick'ning  heart 'conceals  ! 
And,  through  the  cloister's  deep  recess* 

Invading  sorrow  steals. 

,     7.  In  vain,  through  beauty,  fortune,  wit. 
j  The  fugitivt*  we  trace  ; 

.   It  dwells  not  in  the  laithless  smile 
.  That  brightens  Clodia^a  face. 

8.  Perhaps  the  joy  to  these  deny'd, 

The  heart  in  friendship  fmus  : 
I  Ah  !  dear  delusion,  gay  conceit 

Of  visionary  mitids  f 

9.  Howe'er  our  varying  notionfi  rov©,^ 

Yet  all  agree  in  on«,  n^ — 


J3t  English  Readbiu  Pmi  • 

To  place  its  bein?:  in  some  state, 
.  At  distar^ce  fFom  our  own. 
to,  O  blind  to  each  indulgent  aim. 
Of  power  supremely  wise. 
Who  fancy  happiness  in  aught 
The  hand  of  heav'n  denies  ! 
11.  Vain  is  alike  the  joy  we  seek, 
And  vain  that  we  possess, 
Unless  harmonious  reason  tunes 
The  passions  into  peace.    ^ 
Xa.  To  temper'd  wishes,  just  desires,. 
Is  happiness  confin'd ; 
And,  deaf  to  folly's  call,  attends 

The  music  af  the  mind.  •  eJktntMt 

SECTION  Vlll. 
l^he  fire-side. 
f.  Dear  Chloe,  while  the  busy  crowdV 
The  vain,  the  wealthy,  ancl  the  proud. 

In  folly's  maze  advance  ; 
Tho'  singularity  and  pride 
Be  call'd  our  choice,  we'll  step  aside. 
Nor  join  the  giddy  dance. 
S*  From  the  gay  world,  we'll  oft  retire 
To  our  own  family  and  fire,* 

Where  love  our  hours  employs^; 
No  noisy  neighbour  enters  here, 
No  intermeddling  stranger  near,.  ♦ 

To  spoil  our  heart-felt  joys. 
0.  If  solid  happiness  we  prize. 

Within  our  breast  this  jewel  lies';  ._ 

And  they  are  fools  who  roam  : 
The  world  has  nothing  to  bectow : 
From  our  own  selves  our  joys  must  floWf 
And  that  dear  hut  our  home. 
4.  Of  rest  was  Noah's  dove  bereft. 
When  with  impatient  wing  she  left 

That  safe  retreat,  the  ark  ; 
Giving  her  vain  excursion  o'er, 
The  disappointed  bi^d  once  more 
Explor'd  the  sacred  bark. 
0«  Tho*  fools  spurn  Hymen's  gentle  po-w'1% 
We,  who  improve  his  golden  hour», 
hf  Bweet  experience  know, 


That  marriage  rightly  understood, 
Giveg  to  the  tender  and  the  good 
A  paradise  below. 
^Our  uabes  shall  richest  comforts  bring f 
If  tutor'd  rij^ht,  they'll  prove  a  spring 

Whence  pleasures  ever  rise  : 
We'll  form  their  minds,  with  studious  carw, 
To  all  that's  manly,  gootl,  and  fair, 
And  train  them  for  thn  skies. 
'i^  While  they  our  wisest  hours  enj^aj^c, 
They'll  joy  our  y^uth,  support  our  age, 

And  crown  our  hoary  hairs; 
They'll  grow  in  virtue  ev'ry  day, 
And  thus  our  fondest  loves  repay, 
And  recompense  our  rares. 
8^»No  borrow'd  joys  I  they're  all  our  ow«v 
While  to  the  world  we  live  unknown,. 

Or  hy  the  world  forgot : 

Monarchs  I  we  envy  not  your  state  ; 

We  look  with  pitv  on  the  great. 

And  bless  our  numbler  lot. 

ftr  Our  portion  is  not  large,  indeed  ! 

But  then  how  little  do  we  ne«d  ! 

For  nature's  calls  are  few : 
Jn  this  the  art  of  Ihinj^  lies, 
To  want  no  more  than  niay  suffice, 
And  make  that  Httle  do. 
DO  We'll  ther^ffore  relish' with  conient, 
Whate'er  kind  Providence  has  sent^ 

Nor  aim  beyond  our  pow'r; 
For  if  our  stock  be  very  amall, 
*Tis  prudence  to  enjoy  it  all, 
Nor  lose  the  present  hour. 
11.  To  be  resign'd,  when  ills  betide, 
Patient  when  favours  are  denied. 

And  pleas'd^  with  favours  giv*n  : 

Dear  Chloe,  this  is  wisdom's  part ; 

This  is  that  ineence  of  the  heart. 

Whose  fragrance  smells  to  heav'nt 

M.  We'll  ask  no  long  protracted  treat. 

Since  winter-life  is  seldom  sweet; 

But  when  our  feast  is  o'er, 
Grateful  from  table  we'll  arise, 
JNor  grudge  our  sons,  with  enrioti»4 
The  relies  O'f  ovlt  stor«# 


(80  English  Header.  P<wI  t 

13.  Thiw  hand  in  hand,  t)ir,ough  life  we'll  go; 
Its  clu'jjiu'r'd  pn:hs  of  joy  and  wo, 

Witli  cautious  slips,  vve'll  tiv.ad  ; 
Quit  its  vain  scenes  \VilI:.out  a  tear, 
Witliout  a  trouhk*  or  a  fear. 

And  mingle  TV'itii  tli<i  dead.  ^ 

14.  Wliilti  conscience,  like  a  faithful  friend. 
Shall  thro'  the  j^looiny  vale  attend 

And  cheer  our  dying  breath  ; 
Bhall,  wheji  ail  othor  comforts  cease, 
Like  a  kind  angel  whispiu*  ueaci^, 

And  smooth  the  bed  of  death.  cuTTOK. 

BECTION   IX. 

Providence  vindicated  m  tJie present  state  of  tnan. 
I.Heav'n  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate, 

All  but  the  page  prcscrih'd,  their  present  state  ; 

From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits  know; 

Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  ? 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 

Had  he  thy  reason  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 

IMeas'd  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  ilow'ry  food, 

And  licks  the  hand  just  rais'd  to  shed  his  blood, 
£.  Oh  blindness  to  the  future  !  kindly  giv'n, 

That  each  may  iill  the  circle  mark'd  by  HeaY*o ; 

Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of    all, 

A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall  ; 

Atoms  or  systetsis  uito  rum  hurl'd. 

And  now  a  biujjble  burst,  and  now  a  world. 
8.     Hope  humbly  then  :  with  treiribling  pinions  soar; 

Wait  the  greatteacher  death  ;  and  God  adore. 

What  future  bliss  he  gives  not  thee  to  know. 

But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 

Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast : 

Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. 

T|ie  soul,  uneasy,  and  confin'd  from  home. 

Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 
4.     Lo,  the  poor  Indian  !  whose  untutor'd  mind 

Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind ; 

His  soul  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 

Far  as  the  Solar  Walk  or  Milky  Wav  ; 

Yet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  gfv'n, 

Behind  the  rioud-topt  hill,  a  humbler  Iveav'n  ; 

Some  safer  w  orid  in  depth  of  woods  embrac'^d^ 


Chap,  eu  rKOwrscuoBfs  i^iKPV*  ^| 

Borne  happier  Island  in  the  wat'ry  waste  ; 

Where  sslaves  once  more  thf^ir  native  land  behold* 

No  fiends  toiincnt,  no  Chri^^tians  thirst  for  gold. 
1.  To  he,  eontents  his  natural  desre  ; 

He  asks  no  an>;ey*s  >VMig,  no  «eraph*H  fire  ; 

J^ut  thJni<is,  a(in>itted  to  that  equal  sky. 

His  faithful  dog  biiaM  bear  him  company. 
Go,  wiser  thou  \  and  in  tliy  scale  of  sen9e> 

Weij^h  thy  opinion  against  Providence  ; 
.  Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such  ; 

Say  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much.— • 
%.  Jn  pride,  in  reas'ning  pride^  our  error  lies ; 

All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the  ski^a. 

Vride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes; 

Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  goc)j|« 

Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell, 

Aspiring  to  be  angels,  men  relwl  : 

Andivho  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 

Of  oRi»KK,  sins  agaiuLtth'  ktick.nal  cj^vsiut         rONk 

SECTION  X. 

SelfiShiiess  reproved. 

1.  Has  God,  thou  fnol !  work'd  solely  for  thy  good. 
Thy  joy,  thy  |>astimc,  thy  attire,  thy  ionij 
Who  for  thy  table  feeds  the  wanton  fawn* 
For  him  as  kindly  snreads  the  flow'ry  lawQ, 
Is  it-fortl»ee  the  larK  ascends  and  *iings  ? 
Joy  tunes  jiis  voice,  joy  elevates  his  wings. 
Is  It  for  thee  the  linnet  pours  h's  throat  f 
J.oves  of  his  own,  and  raptures  swell  the  note* 

£.  The  bounding  steed  you  pompously  bestride. 
Shares  with  his  lord  the  pleasure  and  the  pride^ 
Is  thi»ie  alone  the  seed  tnat  strews  the  pjam  ? 
The  birds  of  heav'n  shall  vindicate  their  grain* 
Thine  the  full  han'p^t  of  the  golden  year  i 
Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer. 
The  nog,  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  calL 
Lives  on  the  labours  of  this  lord  ot  all. 

Know,  nature's  children  all  divide  her  cr.re  ; 
The  fur  that  warms  a  monarch,  warm'd  a  bear. 
While  man  exclaims,  **  See  all  things  for  my  ui«  ?• 
**  See  man  for  mine  !'*  replies  a  pampered  gooH^ 
And  just  as  Short  of  reason  he  must  fall, 
Wku  thinks  nil  mado  for  one,  not  ono  for  alt 
Z  s. 


^g$  English  Header.  I^tri  ft 

4»     Grant  that  the  pow'rful  still  the  weak  contJ'ol  2 
lie  man  the  wit  and  tyrant  of  the  whole  : 
Nature  that  tyrant  checks ;  he  only  knows, 
And  helps  another  creature's  wants  and  woes. 
Sa^r  will  the  falcon  stoophig  from  above, 
Smitwith  her  varying  plumage,  spare  the  dove  7 
Admires,  the  jay,  the  insect's  gilded  wings  T 
Or  hears  the  hawk  when  Fhilomela  sings  ? 

5.  Man  cares  for  all :  to  birds  he  gives  his  woods, 
To  beasts  his  pastures,  and  to  fish  his  floods  : 
For  some  his  int'rest  prompts  him  to  provide, 
For  more  his  pleasures,  yet  for  more  his  pride* 
All  feed  on  one  vain  patron,  and  enjoy 

Th*  extensive  blessing  of  his  luxury. 

6.  That  very  life  his  learned  hunger  craves, 

lie  saves  from  famine,  from  the  savage  saves; 
Nay,  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast : 
And  till  he  ends  the  being,  makes  it  blest : 
Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  nor  feels  the  paio. 
Than  favour'd  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain. 
The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before ; 
Thou  too  must  perish,  when  thy  feast  i»  o*er  I     Ton 
SECTION  XI. 
Human  jfrailty. 
I.  Weak  and  irresolute  is  man ; 
The  purpose  of  to-d'dj, 
Woven  with  pains  into  his  plan, 
To-morrow*rends  away. 
£.  The  bow  well  bent,  and  smart  the  Bprilig« 
•Vice  seems  already  slain ; 
But  passion  rudely  snaps  the  string,      ^ 
And  it  revives  again.' 

£.  Some  foe  to  his  upright  intent 
Finds  out  his  weaker  part ; 
Virtue  engages  his  assent. 
But  pleasure  wins  his  heart. 
A.  *Tis  here  the  folly  of  the  wise, 
Through  all  his  art  we  view } 
And  while  his  tongue  the  charge  denmr 
His  conscience  owns  it  true. 
fr.  Bound  on  a  voyage  of  awful  lengthf 
And  dangers  little  known, 
A  stranger  to  superior  strength^ 
Alan  vainly  trusts  his  own. 


eAi^p.  6  l^ROMJSctrous  Piseef. 

•.  But  oars  alone  can  ne'er  prevail 
To  reach  the  distant  coast ; 
The  breath  of  heav'n  must  swell  th«  lal^ 
Or  all  the  toil  is  lost. 

SECTION  XII. 
Ode  topeac€, 
1.  Come,  peace  of  mind,  delightful  gueit 
Return,  and  make  thy  downy  nest 

Once  more  in  this  sad  heart 

Nor  riches  I,  nor  povv'r  ^nirsue, 

Nor  hold  forbidden  joys  in  view; 

We  tlicrcfore  need  not  part. 

t.  Where  wilt  thou  dwell,  if  not  with  me. 

From  av'rice  and  ambition  t'rtUt 

And  pleasure's  fatal  wiles; 
For  whom,  alas !  dost  than  prepart 
The  sweets  that  I  was  woiit  to  slwrc. 
The  banquet  of  thy  smiles  1 
5.  The  great,  the  gay,  shall  they  partake 
The  lieav'n  that  tnou  alone  canst  make ; 

And  wilt  thou  quit  the  stream. 
That  murmurs  through  the  dewy  meMi, 
The  grove  and  the  secjuester'd  shadttr 
To  be  a  guest  with  them  ? 
4.  Foi  thee  1  panted,  thee  1  nriz'd, 
For  thee  I  gladly  sacrific'u 
Whate'er  I  lov'd  before  ; 
And  shall  1  see  thee  start  away, 
And  helpless,  hopeless,  hear  thee  i»y— 
Farewell,  we  meet  no  more  ? 
SECTION  XIll. 
Ode  to  adversity, 
1.  Daughter  of  Heav'n,  relentless  powV, 
Thou  tamer  of  the  human  breast, 
Whose  iron  scourge,  and  tort'rin§;  houft 
The  bad  affright,  alflict  the  best  I 
Bound  in  thy  adamantine  chain, 
The  pioud  are  taught  to  taste  of  pain. 
And  purple  tyrants  vainly  groan 
Ytiih  pangs  unlelt  before,  unpitied  and  aloiM* 
ft.  When  first  thy  sire  to  send  on  earth 
Virtue,  hiti  darling  child,  de^ignM, 
To  theo  he  gave  tlw  beov'nly  birtW 


iM  EifGi.isH  Header.  Part  t<1 

And  bade  to  form  her  infant  mind. 
Btern  rugged  nurse  .  thy  rigid  lore  •• 
With  patience  many  a  year  she  bore. 
What  sorrow  was,  thou  bad'st  her  know ; 

And  from  her  own  she  learn'd  to  mek  at  others'  Wcl 
8.  Scar'd  at  thy  frown  terrific,  fly 
Self-pleasing  folly's  idle  brood, 
Wild  laughter,  noise,  and  thoughtless  joy. 
And  leave  us  leisure  to  be  good- 
Light  they  disperse ;  and  with  them  go 
The  summer-mend,  the  Uatt'ring  foe. 
By  rain  prosperity  received. 

To  her  they  vow  their  truth,  and  are  again  believ'<L 

4.  Wisdom,  in  sable  garb  array'd, 
Immers'd  in  rapt'rous  thought  profound, 
And  melancholy,  silent  maid, 
With  leaden  eye  that  loves  the  ground, 
8till  on  thy  solemn  steps  attend; 
Warm  charity,  the  gen'ral  friend, 
With  justice  to  herself  sevtn-e, 

And  pity,  dropping  soft  the  sadly  pleasing  tear* 

5.  Oh  gently  on  thy  suppliant's  head. 
Dread  powV,  lay  thy  chast'uing  hand  *. 
Not  in  thy  gor;^  or  terrors  clad, 
Nor  circled  witli  the  vengeful  band, 
(As  by  the  impious  thou  art  seen,) 
With  thund'ring  voice,  and  thrcai'ning  mh^ 
With  screaming  horror's  fun'ral  cry, 

despair,  and  fell  disease,  and  ghastly  poverty, 
t.  Thy  form  benign,  propitious,  weajr, 
Thy  milder  mfluence  impart  ; 
Thy  philosophic  train  be  there. 
To  soften,  not  to  wound  my  iieart. 
The  gen'rous  spark  extinct  revive  ; 
Teach  me  to  love,  and  to  forgive  ; 
Exact  my  own  defects  to  scan  ; 
Whit  others  are  to  feel ;  and  know  myself  a  ynan.   tft^f 
SECTION  XIV. 
7^  creation  required  to  praise  its  Auifivr* 
1.  Beoin  my  soul,  th*  exalted  lay  ! 
L«t  each  enraptur'd  thought  obey, 

And  praise  th'  Almighty's  name  : 
JLo    heaven  and  earth,  and  seas  and  ikiet« 


I 


Chaff.  0  Promiscuous  Pieces.  %t% 

In  one  melodious  concert  rise, 

To  swcil  ih'  inspiring  theme. 
£,  Yc  fields  of  light,  celestial  plains, 
Where  gay  transporting;  beauty  reigns, 

Ye  scenes  divinely  fair  ! 
Your  Maker  s  wond'rous  pow'r  proclaim^ 
Tell  how  he  form'd  voiir  shining  framci 

And  hreatlrd  the  lluid  air. 

5.  Ye  angels,  catch  the  thrilling  sound  ! 
While  all  the  adoring  ihrone«  aroun«i 

His  boundless  mercy  sing  : 
Let  every  list'ning  saint  above 
Wake  all  the  Uuieful  soul  of  love, 

And  touch  the  swcett^st  string. 

4.  Join,  ye  loud  spheres,  th(i  vocal  chou* 

Tliou  dazzling  orb  of  liquid  fire. 

Tile  mighty  chorus  aid  : 
S(\on  as  gray  eveninf^  gilds  the  plain, 
Thou  m()(»n,  protract  the  melting  strain. 

And  praise  liim  in  the  shade. 
5. 1'hou  heav'n  of  heav'ns,  his  vast  abode  , 
Yc.  clouds,  proclaim  your  forming  God> 

Who  cali'd  yon  worlds  from  night  : 
**  Ye  shudes dispel  I" — th'  Eternal  said: 
At  nnce  tli'  involving  darkness  fled. 

And  nature  sprung  to  light. 

6.  WhateVr  a  blooming  world  contains, 
ThhC  wingis  the  air,  that  skims  the  plains^ 

United  praise  bestow : 
Ye  dragons,  sound  his  awful  name 
To  heav'n  aloud  ;  and  roar  acclaim. 

Ye  swelling  deeps  below.  • 

7.  Let  ev'ry  elonent  rejoice  ; 

Yti  thunders  burst  with  awful  voice 

To  HIM  -who  bids  you  roll : 
His  praise  in  softer  nores  declare, 
Fiacn  whispering  breeze  of  yieldioj  air, 

And  breathe  it  to  the  soul. 

5.  To  him,  ye  graceful  cedars  bow  ; 
Ye  towering  mountains,  bending  low. 

Your  great  Creator  own  ; 
Tell,  when  affrighted  nature  shook,  ^^^  ij** 

How  Sinai  kindled  at  his  look. 

And  trembled  at  hh  frown.  -j^^- 


£NeLtsH  Reader.  Fart  I« 

•«  Y«  i!ock«  that  haunt  the  fumble  vale. 
Ye  insects  flut.t'ring  on  the  gale, 

In  mutual  concourse  rise ; 
Crop  the  ^ay  rose's  vermeil  bloom, 
And  waft  its  spoils,  a  sweet  perfume, 

In  incense  to  the  skies. 

10.  Wnke  all  ye  mounting  tribes  and  sing ; 
Ye  plumy  warblers  of  the  spring. 

Harmonious  anthems  raise 
Tt)  HIM  who  shap'd  your  finer  mould, 
Who  tippM  your  glitt'ring  win^s  with  gold. 

And  tun'd  your  voice  to  praise. 

11.  Let  man,  by  nobler  passions  sway'd, 
The  feeling  heart,  the  judging  head, 

In  hcav'nly  praise  employ  ; 
Spread  his  tremendous  name  abroad, 
Till  heav'n's  broad  arch  rings  back  the  sound* 

The  gen'ral  burst  of  joy. 
it.  Ye  whom  the  charms  of  ^andeur  please, 
Nurs'd  on  the  downy  lap  of  ease. 

Fall  prostrate  at  his  throne  : 
Ye  princes,  rulers,  all  adore  ; 
Praise  him,  ye  kings,  who  makes  your  pow'r 

An  image  of  his  own. 
IS.  Ye  fair,  by  nature  form'd,  to  move, 
O  praise  th'  eternal  sourck  of  love, 

With  youth's  enUv'ning  lire 


Let  ace  take  up  the  tuneful  lay. 
Sigh  his  bless'd  name — then  soar  away, 
And  ask  an  angel's  lyre.  oqtlvi^ 


SECTIOM  XV. 

The  universal  prayer. 
.  Father  or  all  !  in  ev'ry  age. 

In  ev'ry  clime,  ador'd, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage,  , 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord  ! 
.  Thou  GREAT  FIRST  CAUSE,  least  understood^ 

Who  all  my  sense  confiii'd 
To  know  but  this,  thut  Thou  art  good. 

And  that  myself  am  blind  ; 
.  Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate. 

To  see  the  good  from  ill ; 

And  binding  nature  fast  in  fate. 

Left  free  the  human  will. 


tJ9^'  0'  I'romiscuous  Pieces.  tit 

4.  What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done. 
Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 
That  more  than  heav'n  pursue. 
ft.  What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives. 
Let  me  not  cast  away  ; 
For  God  is  paid,  Avhen  man  receives 
T*  enjoy  is  to  obey. 
••  Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 
Or  thmk  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

7.  Let,  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hana 

Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw ; 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land. 
On  each  1  judge  thy  foe. 

8.  If  1  am  right,  thy  grace  impart, 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay ; 
If  1  am  wrong,  oh  teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way! 

9.  Save  me  alike  from  foolish  prid^ 

Or  impious  discontent. 
At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denied^ 
Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 

10.  Teach  me  to  feel  another's  wo. 

To  hide  the  fault  1  see ; 
That  mercy  1  to  others  show, 
That  mercy  show  to  me. 

11.  Mean  tho'  1  am,  not  wholly  so, 

Since  quicken'd  by  thy  breath ; 
O  lead  me  wherosoe'er  1  go. 

Thro'  this  day's  life  or  death  I 
If.  This  day,  be  bread  and  peace  my  lo^ 

All  else  beneath  the  sun 
Thou  know'stif  best  bestow'd  or  not. 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 
M.To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  spacer 

Whose  altar,  earth,  aea,  skies  ] 
One  chorus  let  all  beings  raise  I 

All  nature's  incense  rise.  pops 


MS  £n«£ish  Reader.  .  Part  % 

SECTION  XVI, 

Coiiscience, 
1.  O  TREACHEROUS  consdence !  while  she  seems  to  steep. 
On  rose  nnd  myrtle,  luU'd  with  syren  song ; 
While  she  secm«,  nodding  o'er  her  charge,  to  drop 
On  headlong  appetite  the  slackened  reign, 
And  gives  us  up  to  licence,  unrccall'd, 
Unnnark'd — see,  from  behind  her  secret  sta  .d, 
The  sly  informer  minutes  ev'ry  fault, 
And  her  dv^ad  diary  with  horror  fills, 
t.  Not  the  gross  act  alone  employs  her  pen  ; 
She  reconnoitres  fancy's  airy  hand, 
A  watchful  foe  '  the  formidable  spv, 
JJst'ning,  o'erhears  the  whispers  of  our  camp  ; 
Our  dawning  purposes  of  heart  ex})!ore3, 
And  steals  our  embryos  of  iniquity. 
'M*  As  all  rapacious  usurers  conceal 

Their  doomsday-book  from  all-consuming  heirs  ,»    ;* 
Thus,  with  indulgence  most  severe,  she  treats 
Us  spendthrifts  of  inestimable  time  ; 
Unnoted,  notes  each  moment  misapply'd  ; 
In  leaves  more  durable  than  leaves  of  brass. 
Writes  our  whole  history  ;  which  death  shall  read 
In  ev'ry  pale  delinauent's  private  ear ; 
And  judj^ment  p'iiiish;  publish  to  more  worlds 
Than  this ;  and  endless  age  in  groans  resound,  touma 
SECTION  XVll. 
On  an  infant, 
*      1.  To  the  dark  and  silent  tomb, 

Soon  I  hastenM  from  the  womb: 
Scarce  the  dawn  of  life  began, 
Ere  I  mejisur'd  out  my  span* 
$.  I  no  smiling  pleasures  knew ; 
1  no  gay  delights  could  view : 
Joyless  sojourner  was  1, 
Only  jorri  to  weep  and  die. — 

3.  Ilappv  infant,  earlv  bless'd  ! 
Rest,  m  peaceful  slumber,  rest; 
Karly  rescu'd  from  the  cares, 
Which  incr-^ase  with  growing  years* 

4.  No  delights  are  worth  thy  stay, 
Smiling  as  they  seem,  and  gay ; 
Short  and  sickly  are  they  all, 
Hardly  tasted  ere  they  pall. 


Chap.   6.  r&OMlSCrODS    ViZCKM.  «8t 

5.  All  our  gaity  is  vain, 
All  our  laughter  is  but  pain ; 
0  Lasting  only,  and  divine, 

la  an  innocence  like  thine. 

SECTION  XVllI. 
The  Cuckoo. 
1.  liAiLf  beauteous  sl:Mnji;er  of  the  wood, 
Attendant  on  the  sming  ! 
Now  heav'n  repairs  tny  rural  seat. 
And  woods  Ihy  welcome  sing. 
£.  Soon  as  the  daisy  decks  the  green, 
Thy  certain  vorce  we  hear  ; 
Hast  thou  a  star  to  guide  thy  path. 
Or  mark  the  rolhug  year  1 
8,  Delightful  visitant !  with  thee 
1  hail  the  time  of  flow'rs, 
When  heav'n  is  fiU'd  with  music  sweet 
Of  birds  among  the  bow'rs. 

4.  The  school-boy,  wand'ring  in  the  wood> 

To  pull  the  fiow'rs  so  gay, 
Starts,  thy  curious  voice  to  hear, 
And  imitates  thy  lay. 

5.  Soon  as  the  pea  puts  on  the  bloom. 

Thou  ily'st  the  vocal  vale, 
An  annual  guest  in  other  lands, 
Another  spring  to  hail. 

6.  Sweet  bird  !  thy  bowV  is  ever  green. 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear  ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 
No  winter  in  thy  year  ! 

7.  U  could  1  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee  ; 

We'd  make,  with  social  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  ^lobe, 

Companions  of  the  spnng.  LO€aA 

SECTION  XIX. 
Day,     A  pastoial  in  tUree  parts* 

MORNING. 

i.  Iw  the  barn  tlie  tenant  coc  k, 

Close  to  Partlet  perch'd  on  high, 
Briskly  crows,  (the  shepheid's  clock  I) 
Jorund  that  the  morning's  ugh. 
^-  Swiftly  from  the  mountain's  brow, 
Shadows,  nursM  by  night,  retire  } 
A  a 


t90  Ei^GLis^  Rkader.  P%rt  % 

And  the  peeping  sun-beam  now 
Paints  with  gold  the  village  spire. 

S.  j'hilomel  forsakes  the  thorn, 

Plaintive  where  she  prates  at  night; 
And  the  lark  to  meet  the  morn,  ^ 
Soars  beyond  the  shepherd's  sight* 

4.  From  the  low-roof'd  cottage  rid^e, 

See  the  ehatt'ring  swallow  sprm^ ; 
Darting  throu?;h  the  one-arch'a  bridge, 

Quick  she  (j.ips  her  dappled  win^. 
5v  Now  the  pine  tree's  waving  top 

Gently  greets  the  niorning  gale  : 
Kidlin^s,  now,  begin  to  crop 

Daisies  on  the  dewy  dale. 

5,  From  the  balmy  swecls,  uncloy'd, 

(Restless  till  her  task  be  done,) 
Now  the  busy  bee's  employ 'd 

Sipping  dew  before  the  sun. 
%j  Trickling  through  the  crevic'd  rock, 
.    Where  the  limpid  stream  distils, 
Jweet  refreshmenit  waits  the  flock, 

When  'tis  sun-drove  from  the  hills. 
S,  Colin's  for  the  promised  corn 

(Ere  the  harvest  hones  are  ripe) 
Anxious; — whilst  the  huntsman's  horn, 

Boldly  sounding,  drowns  his  pipe. 
9.  Sweet — O  sweet,  the  warbling  throng, 

On  the  v/hite  emblossom'd  spray  . 
Natures  universal  song 

Echoes  to  the  rising  day. 

NOON. 

!0.  Fkrvid  on  the  glitt'ring  Aood, 

|Vow  the  noontide  radiance  glows  f 
Drooping  o'er  its  infant  bud, 
No<  a  dew-drop's  left  the  roae. 
II.  Bv  the  brook  the  shepherd  dines, 
V'rom  the  fierce  meridian  heat, 
•s?helterM  by  the  branching  j)ineii, 
Pefide.nt  o'er  his  grassy  seat- 
\t.  Now  the  flook  forsakes  the  glade, 

Wh'^.re  uncheck'd  the  sun -beams  foil, 
Bure  to  find  a  pleasing  shaiifi 
|5y  the  ivyd  abhey  wall. 


dUtp.   e.  I'lUOMIBCUOVa  Fl£CK».  S^l 

IS.  Echo,  in  her  airy  round, 

O'er  the  river,  rock,  and  hill, 
Cannot  catch  a  single  sound, 
Save  the  clack  of  yonder  rnill. 

14.  Cattle  court  the  zephyrs  bland, 

Where  the  streamlet  wanders  cool| 
Or  with  languJd  silence  stand 
Midway  in  the  marshy  pool, 

15.  But  from  mountain,  dell,  or  stream, 

Not  a  flutt'ring  zephyr  springs ; 
Fearful  lest  the  noontide  beam 
Scorch  its  soft,  its  silken  wings. 

16.  Not  a  leaf  has  leave  to  stir, 

Nature's  lullM — serene-r- and  stili!    ^ 
Quiet  e'en  tlie  shepherd's  cur, 
Sleeping  on  the  heath-clad  hill. 

17.  Languid  is  the  landscape  round,  "•" 

Till  the  fresh  descending  show'r, 
Grateful  to  the  thirsty  groundv 
liaises  ev'ry  fainting  llow'r. 

18.  Now  the  hill — the  hedge — are  groen. 

Now  the  warblers'  throats  in  tune ; 
Biithsonie  is  the  verdant  scene, 
iirighten'd  by  the  beams  of  noon. 
evp:ning. 
19.  0*ER  the  heath  the  heifer  strays 
Free — (the  furrow'd  tasK  .3  done ;) 
Now  the  vilhige  windows  blaze, 
15urnish'd  by  the  setting  sun. 
£0.  Now  he  sets  behind  the  hill, 
Sinking  from  a  golden  sky  ; 
Can  the  pencil's  mimic  skilf 
Copy  the  refulgent  dye  ? 
£1.  Trudging  as  the  ploughmen  go, 

(To  the  smoking  hamlet  bound,) 
Giant-like  their  shadow^s  grow 
Lengthen'd  o'er  the  level  ground. 
£2.  Where  the  rising  forest  spreads 
Shelter  for  the  lordly  dome  .' 
To  their  high-built  airy  beds, 
See  the  rooks  returning  home ! 
£3.  As  the  lark,  with  vary'd  tune, 
Carol*  t©  the  ev'ning  loud  | 


t9t  KcfOLiSH  Reader.  Pari  f 

,         Mark  the  mild  resplendent  moon, 

Breaking  through  a  parted  cloud  ! 

£4.  Now  the  hermit  owlet  peens 

From  the  barn  or  tvvistea  brake  ; 
And  the  blue  mist  slowly  creeps, 
Curling  on  the  silver  lake. 

25.  As  the  trout  in  speckled  pride, 

Playful  from  its  bosom  springs  ; 
To  the  banks  a  ruffled  tide 
Verges  in  successive  rings, 

26.  Tripping  through  the  silken  grass 

O'er  the  path-divided  dale, 
Mark  the  rose-complexion'd  lasg 
With  her  well-pois'd  milking  pail ! 

27.  Linnets  with  unnumbcr'd  notes, 

And  the  cuckoo  bird  with  two, 
Tuning  sweet  their  mellow  throats, 

Bid  the  setting  sun  adieu.  euNiYiNGUAM. 

SECTION  XX. 
The  order  of  nature. 
1.  See,  thro'  this  air,  this  ocean,  and  this  earth, 
All  matter  quick,  and  bursting  into  birth. 
Above,  how  high  progressive  life  may  go  ! 
Around,  how  wide  !  how  deep  extend  below  : 
Vast  chain  of  being!  wiiich  from  God  began, 
Nature  ethereal,  human;  angel,  man; 
Beast,  bird,  fish,  insect,  what  no  eye  can  see, 
No  glass  can  reach  ;  from  infinite  to  thee, 
From  thee  to  nothing. — On  superior  powVs 
Were  we  to  press,  inferior  might  on  ours  ; 
Or  in  the  full  creation  leave  a  void. 
Where,  one  step  broken,  the  great  scale's  deatroy'd 
From  nature's  chain  whatever  link  you  strike. 
Tenth  or  ten  thousandth  breaks  the  chain  alike. 
.  And,  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll. 
Alike  essential  to  th'  amazing  whole, 
The  least  confusion  but  in  one,  not  all 
That  system  only,  but  the  w  hole  must  fall. 
Let  earth,  unbalanc'd  from  her  orbit  fly, 
Planets  and  suns  run  lawless  thro'  the  sky  : 
Let  ruling  angels  from  their  spheres  be  hurl'd, 
Being  on  being  wreck'd,  and  world  on  world  ; 
Heaven's  whole  foundations  to  their  centre  nod^ 
And  nature  tremble  to  the  throne  of  Cod. 


All  this  dread  order  break — for  nhom  ?  for  ihee  ? 
Vile  worm  I  Oh  madness  I  nride  !  impiety  I 
5.  What  if  the  foot,  ordainxl  tlie  dust  to  trend, 
Or  hand,  to  toil,  a.sj>ird  to  be  the  head  ? 
What  if  the  head,  the  eye,  ortar  ri'pin'd 
To  serve  mere  engines  to  the  rniinp;  mind  ? 
Just  as  absurd  for  any  part  to  claim 
To  be  another,  in  this  j»;en'ral  frr.mo  : 
Just  as  absurd,  to  mourn  the  t.isks  or  pains, 
That  j^reat  direetinji;  mk\d  of  all  ordains. 

4.  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole. 
Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  tlie  soul : 
'I'hat  chang'd  thro'  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same. 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  th'  ethereal  frame; 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees ; 
Lives  thro'  all  lihj,  extends  thro'  all  extent, 

.     Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 

Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part9 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourncs 
As  the  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns: 
To  him,  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small; 
lie  fills,  he  bounds,  connects  and  equals  all. 

5.  Ceast!  then,  nor  okdi:u  imperfection  name  ; 
Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame, 
Know  tliy  OAvn  point:  this  kind,  this  due  degree 
i)f  blindness,  weakness,  ll'Mv'n  bestows  on  ttiee. 
Submit. — In  this  or  any  other  sphere. 

Secure  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear : 
Safe  in  tiie  hand  of  one  disposing  Pow  r, 
Or  in  the  natal,  or  the  mortal  hour. 
All  nature  is  but  art,  unknown  to  thee; 
All  chance,  dn-ection,  which  thou  canst  not  »ce  ; 
All  discord,  harmony  not  understood  ; 
All  lurtial  evil,  universal  ^ood  ; 
And  spite  of  l*ride,  in  ernng  Reason's  spite. 
One  truth  is  chjar, — whatever  is,  is  right.      rOPK 
SECTION  XXI. 
Conjidenci  in  Divine  prntectian, 
1.  [low  are  thy  servants  blest,  O  Lordi 
How  sun.'  is  their  defence  I 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide. 
Their  help  Omnipotence. 
A  d  S, 


M4  English  Reader.  Fart  f 

S.  In  foreign  realms,  and  lands  remote, 
Supported  by  thy  care. 
Through  burning  climiis  I  passed  Unhuttt 
And  breath'd  id  tainted  air. 
$.  Thy  mercy  sweetened  evVy  soili 
Made  ev'ry  region  please ; 
The  hoary  Alpine  hills  it  warm'd. 
And  smooth'd  the  Tyrrhene  seas. 
i.  Think,  O  my  soul,  devoutly  think, 
How  with  aflrighted  eyes, 
Thou  saw'st  the  wide  extended  deep 
la  all  its  horrors  rise  ! 

5.  Confusion  dwelt  in  every  face, 

And  fear  in  every  heart:, 
When  waves  on  waves,  and  gulfs  in  gidfii, 
O'ercame  the  pilot's  art. 

6.  Yet  then,  from  all  my  griefs,  O  Lord, 

Thy  mercy  set  me  t'nte ; 
While  in  the  confidence  of  pray'r 
My  soul  took  hold  on  thee* 
f .  For  tho'  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung 
High  on  the  broken  \<  ave, 
I  knew  thoii  #ert  not  slow  id  hear,' 
Nor  impotent  to  save. 
S.  The  storm  was  laid,  the  winds  rctir'd, 
Obedient  to  thy  will ; 
The  sea  that  roar  d  at  thy  command, 
At  thy  command  was  still. 
0.  In  midst  of  dangers,  fears,  and  deaths, 
Thy  goodness  I'll  adore  ; 
And  praise  thee  for  thy  mercies  past, 
And  humhl}^  hope  for  more. 
10.  My  life,  if  thou  Jft'eserve  my  life, 
Thy  sacrifice  shall  be; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom, 

iShall  join  my  soul  to  thie.  addisov* 

SECTION   XXll. 
Hymn  on  a  rtvittv  of  the  seasons. 
1.  These,  as  they  change,  AJ?nighly  Father  !  thesBi 
Are  but  the  varied  Gud.     The  rolling  year 
1»  full  of  thee.     Forth  in  the  pleasing  spring 
Thy  beauty  waiks.     f  hy  teiiderncss  and  love, 


Chap.  6.  PROMISCUOUS  PicclJ.  t9) 

Wide  flush  the  ^elds;  the  soffuing  air  is  balm ; 
Echo  the  mountains  round  ;  the  forest  smiles, 
And  ev'ry  sense,  and  ev'ry  heart  is  joy. 
1.  Then  comes  Thy  glory  i-n  the  summer  month?, 
With  light  and  heart  refulgent.     Then  Thy  sun 
Shoots  full  perfection  thro'  the  swelling  year: 
And  oft  Thy  voice  in  dreadful  thunder  speaks , 
And  oft  at  dawn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve, 
hy  brooks  and  groves,  in  holiow-whisp'ring  gale*. 

5.  Thy  bounty  shines  in  autumn  Unconftn'dj 
And  spfeaas  a  common  feast  for  all  that  lives. 
In  winter,  awful  Thou  !  with  clouds  and  stoimf 
Around  thee  thrown,  tempest  o'er  tempest  rolPd, 
Alajestic  darkness  !  On  the  whirlwind's  wing, 
Hiding  sublime,  thou  bidst  the  world  adore  ; 
And  humhlest  nature  with  Thy  northern  blast. 

4.  Mysterious  round  .  wnat  skill,  what  force  divine> 
Deep  felt,  in  these  appear !  a  simple  train, 
Yet  so  delighted  mi«*d,  with  such  kind  art* 
Huch  beauty  and  beneficence  combin'd  ; 
Shade,  unperceiv'd,  so  softening  into  shade, 
And  all  so  formin;;  an  harmonious  whole. 
That  as  they  still  succeed,  thty  ravish  stiJl. 

6.  But  tvand'ring  oft,  with  brute  unconscious  gayte, 
Man  marks  not  'J'hec,  marks  not  the  mighty  hand. 
That,  eter  busy,  wheels  tlie  silent  spheres  ; 
Works  in  the  s.*cret  deep  ;  i,l:oots,  streaming,  theuce 
The  fair  profusion  that  o'o!  (spreads  the  sprin^^  ; 
Flings  from  the  sun  direct  the  flaming  day ; 
Feeds  ev'ry  creature  ;  hurls  I  he  tempest  forth  ; 
And,  as  on  earth  this  grateful  change  revolves, 
With  transport  touches  all  the  springs  of  life* 

6.  Nature,  attend  .'   join  every  living  soul, 
jieneath  the  spacious  tenij;le  of  the  sky  : 
in  adoration  join  !  and,  ardoit,  raise 
One  general  son*  ' 

Ve  chief,  for  whom  the  whole  creation  smiles. 
At  once  the  head,  the  heaii:,  and  tongue  of  all, 
Crown  the  great  hymn  ! 

T.  For  me,  when  1  forget  the  darling  theme. 
Whether  the  blossom  blows,  the  sumuiei  ray 
Uussets  the  plain;  inspiring,  autumn  gle^iins; 
Or  winter  rises  in  the  black'ning  east  ; 
Be  my  tongue  mute,  may  fancy  paint  no  moret 
And  dead  to  joy,  lorget  my  heart  to  beat ! 


£86  EhOLisH  RcADCB*  Pari  t. 

t.  Hhould  fate  command  me  to  the  farthest  verge 
Of  the  fjreen  earth,  to  distaijt  harbVous  climes, 
Rivers  unknown  to  song;  where  first  the  sun 
GiMs  Indian  mountains.,  or  his  :>etting  beam 
Flames  on  th'  Atlantic  isles ;  'tis  nought  to  me  } 
Hince  God  is  ever  present,  ever  felt, 
In  the  void  waste  as  in  the  city  full ; 
And  where  hk  vital  breathes  there  must  be  joy, 

9.  WJien  e'en  at  hist  the  solemn  hour  shall  come, 
And  wing  mj  mystic  ilight  to  future  worlds, 
1  cheerful  will  obey  ;  there,  with  new  pow'rs, 
Will  rising  wonders  sing  :  I  cannot  go 
Where  universal  love  not  smiles  around, 
Hustaining  all  5^on  orbs,  and  all  their  suns ; 
From  seeming  evil  still  educing  good, 
And  better  thence  again,  and  better  still, 
in  infinite  progression.     But  1  lose 
Myself  in  uim,  in  light  ineflable  ! 
Come  then,  expressive  silence,  muse  his  praise 

THCUSOIV 

SECTION  XXIL 

On  solitude, 
I.      O  ;,6m tudFm  romantic  maid  ! 

\\  h<'.ther  bv  nodding  towers  you  tread, 

'^^  haunt  the  desert's  trackless  gloom, 

i  >r  hover  o'er  the  yawning  tomb. 

Or  climb  the  Andes'  clifled  side. 

Or  by  the  Nile's  coy  sourn*  abide, 

iji\  starting  from  your  half-year's  sleep. 

From  llechi  view  the  thawing  deep, 

Or,  at  tlje  purnle  dawn  of  day, 

Tadnior's  marble  wastes  survey  ; 
You,  recluse,  again  I  woo. 
And  agnin  your  steps  pursue. 
5.      rium'd  conceit  himself  surveying, 

I'oily  with  her  shadow  playing, 

l'urs<3-proud  elbowing  insolence, 

i>l(»ated  empiric,  Puil'*d  pretence, 

Noise  that  througli  a  trumpet  speaks, 

i.aii;^hi('r  in  loud  peala  that  breaks. 

i^jtrusitiu  V,  jih  a  (<ipling's  face, 

(ignorant  c^f  lime  and  place,) 

Spark*  of  Hre  dissen^5i^)n  blowing, 

!iiM-ril«\  rourt-b.-ead  flattery  bowing, 

llestraint's  stiff  neck,  i^rimace's  leer. 


i 


r&otfiscoous  Pieces. 

SJquint-ey'd  censure's  artful  sneer. 
Ambition's  buskins,  steepM  in  blood. 
Fly  thy  presence,  Solitude  ! 

5.         Sajje  reflection,  bent  with  years. 
Conscious  virtue,  void  of  feara, 
Muffled  silence,  wood-nymph  shy, 
Mpditcition's  piercing  eye, 
Halcyon  peace  on  moss  reclinM, 
Retrospect  that  scans  the  mind, 
lUpt  earth-dazing  revery, 
Blushing  artless  modesty, 
Health  that  snuffs  the  morning  air, 
Full-ey'd  truth  with  bosom  bare. 
Inspiration,  nature's  child, 
Seek  the  solitary  wild. 

#.         When  all  nature's  hush'd  asleep. 
Nor  love,  nor  guilt,  their  vigils  keep, 
Soft  you  leave  your  cavern'd  den, 
And  wander  o'er  the  works  of  men : 
But  when  Phosphor  brings  the  dawn, 
By  her  dappled  coursers  drawn, 
Again  you  to  the  wild  retreat, 
And  the  early  huntsman  meet, 
Wiierc,  as  you  pensive  pass  ahmg, 
You  catch  the  oistant  shepherd'^  son;? 
Or  brush  from  herbs  the  pearly  dew. 
Or  the  rising  primrose  view, 
Devotion  lends  her  heaven-])lum'd  wingi, 
Vou  mount,  and  nature  with  you  sin^s. 

5.  But  when  mid-dav  fervours  glow, 
To  upland  airy  shades  you  go, 
Where  never  sun-burnt  woodman  came, 
Nor  sportsman  chas'd  the  timid  game: 
And  there,  beneath  an  oak  reclin  d, 
With  drowsy  waterfalls  behind, 

Vou  sink  to  rest. 

Till  the  tuneful  bird  of  night, 

From  the  neighb'ring  poplar's  height. 

Wake  you  with  her  solemn  strain. 

And  teach  pleas  d  echo  to  complain. 

6.  With  you  roses  brighter  bloom. 
Sweeter  every  sweet  })erfume  ; 
Purer  every  rnqntajn  Hows, 
Stronger  every  wilding  grows. 
Let  Iho^e  toil  for  gold  who  pleas^f 


Or,  for  fame  renounce  their  ease. 
What  is  fume  ?  An  empty  bubble  ; 
(fold  I  a  shinin*;,  constant  trouble. 
lAtt  them  for  their  country  bleed  ! 
What  was  Sidney's,  Raleij;h's  meed  ? 
Man's  nut  worth  a  moment's  pain  ; 
Base,  ung;raterul,  fickle,  vain. 
7.         Then  let  me,  sequester'd  fair, 
To  your  sybil  ^rOt  repair; 
On  yon  hanging  clift' it  stands^ 
Scoop'd  by  nature's  plastic  hands, 
IJosom'd  in  the  g;loomy  sliade 
Of  Cyprus  not  with  aj^e  decay'd  ; 
Where  the  owl  still  hooting  sits, 
Where  tiie  bat  incessant  Hits  ; 
There  in  loftier  strains  I'll  sing 
Whence  the  ehandn;;  seasons  spring; 
Tell  how  storms  ueform  the  skies, 
Whence  the  ivaves  subside  and  rise, 
Trace  tht*  comet's  blazing  tail, 
Weiji;h  the  planets  in  ii  scale  ; 
iU^nil,  j^reat  God,  before  thy  shrine 
The  bournlcss  microcosm^fi  fhin^'. 
t.      Since  in  each  scheme  of  fife  I've  faif  d. 
And  disappointment  seems  entail'd  ; 
Since  all  on  earth  1  valued  most, 
tMy  guide,  my  stay,  my  friend  is  lost ; 
()  Solitude,  now  {!;ive  me  rest, 
And  hush  the  tempest  in  my  breast. 
O  pjcntly  deign  to  j;uide  my' feet 
To  your  hermit-trodden  seat  ; 
^Vllere  I  may  live  at  last  my  own. 
Where  1  at  last  may  die  unknown. 
9.  I  spoke  :  she  turn'd  her  magic  ray  ; 
And  thus  she  said,  or  seem'd  to  say ; 
Youth,  you're  mistaken,  if  you  think  to  find 
in  shades,  a  med'cine  for  a  troubled  mind  ; 
Wan  j;rief  will  haunt  you  wheresoe'et*  you  go, 
High  in  the  breeze,  and  in  the  sti-eamlet  (low. 
There,  pale  inaction  pines  his  life  awayl 
And  .satiate  mourns  the  quick  return  of  day: 
There,  naked  frenzy  laughing  wild  ivith  pain, 
Or  bares  the  blade,  or  phmges  in  the  main  ; 
There,  superstition  broods  o'er  all  her  fear*, 
A»d  yells  of  demons  in  the  zephyr  hears. 


&Utp.  6*  Peomiscuous  Pikc£3.  t9f 

10..    ijut  if  Ji  hermit  you're  resolv'd  to  dwell, 
And  bid  to  social  lite  a  last  farewell , 

*Ti3  impious 

God  never  made  an  independent  man  ; 
Twouldjar  the  concord  of  hisgen'ral  plan. 
See  every  part  of  that  stupendous  whole, 
**  Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  sou)  ;* 
To  one  great  end  tiie  general  good  eonspire< 
From  matter,  brute,  to  man<  to  seraph,  fire. 

11.     Should  man  through  nature  solitary  roam, 
His  will  his  sovereign,-  every  wliere  his  home, 
What  force  would  guard  him  from  the  lion's  jaw  ? 
What  swiftness  winj^  him  from  the  panther's  paw  I 
Or  sbouldi  fate  lead  nim  to  somo  safer  shore, 
Where  panthers  never  prowl,  nor  lions  roar, 
Where  liberal  nature  all  her  cliarms  bestows, 
Sunc  shine,  birds  sing,  flowers  bloom,  and  water  flowi. 
Fool,  dost  thou  think  he'd  revel  on  the  store. 
Absolve  the  care  of  J leaven,  nor  ask  for  more  ? 
Though  waters  flow'd,  (low'rs  bloom'd,  and  I'hcB&tu 

shone, 
He'd  sigh,  he'd  inurmur,  that  he  was  alone. 
For  know,  the  Maker  on  the  human  breast 
A  sense  of  kindred,  country,  man,  impress'd. 

it,  '  Though  nature's  wtu-ks  the  ruling  mind  declurflj. 
And  well  deserve  inquiry's  serious  care, 
The  God  (whate'er  misanthropy  may  say,) 
Shines,  beams  in  man  with  most  unclouded  ray. 
What  boots  it  thee  to  lly  from  pole  to  pole  ? 
Hang  o'er  the  sun,  and  with  the  planecs  roll? 
What  boots  through  space's  furthest  bourns  to  roam  I 
If  thou,  O  man,  a  stranger  art  at  home. 
Then  know  thyself,  the  liuman  mind  survey; 
The  use,  the  pleasure,  will  the  toil  repay. 

18.     Nor  study  only,  practise  what  you  know; 
Vourlife,  your  knowledge,  to  mankind  you  ow*. 
With  Plato's  olive  wreath  the  bays  entuine; 
Those  who  in  stiniy,  should  in  practice  shine. 
Bay,  does  the  learned  lord  of  llagley's  shade, 
Cliarm  man  so  much  by  mossy  fountains  laid, 
As  when  arous'd  he  stems  corruptions  ccurse, 
And  shakes  the  senate  with  a  Tully's  force  1 
When  freedom  gasp'd  beneath  a  Cesar's  i^tK^i^ 
Then  public  virtue  might  to  shades  retreat : 
But  wnere  she  breathes,  the  least  may  useful  be, 
Aad  freedom   Britain,  still  belongs  to  tliee* 


90«  £NGLIia  RCADER.  Pari  %, 

14.     Though  man's  ungratefuKor  though  fortune  frown ; 

Is  the  reward  of  worth,  a  son^,  or  crown  ?  I 

Nor  yet  unrecompens'd  are  vntue's  pHins  ;  ' 

(»ooa  Allen  lives,  and  bounteous  iirunswick  reignft. 

On  each  condition  disappointments  wait,  ) 

Knterthe  hut,  and  fcrce  the  guarded  j^ate. 

Nor  dare  repine  tnough  early  friendship  bleed  :  ; 

From  love,  the  world,  and  all  its  cares,  he's  Ireed. 

\\\\i  know,  adversity's  the  child  of  God  ; 

Whom  Heaven  approves  of  most,  must  feel  her  rod. 
\b.     When  smooth  old  Ocean,  and  each  storm's  asleep 

Then  ignorance  may  plough  the  wat'ry  deep  : 

l^ut  v.'hen  the  demons  of  the  tempest  rave, 

Skill  must  conduct  the  vessel  throup;h  the  wave. 

Sidney,  what  good  man  envies  net  thy  blow? 

Wlio  would  not  wish  Anytus*  for  a  foe? 

Intrepid  virtue;  triumphs  over  fate  : 

Ttie  good  can  never  be  unfortunate  ; 

And  be  this  maxim  graven  in  thy  mind  ; 

The  height  of  viitue  is,  to  serve  mankind. 
16.     l^at  whf  n  old  age  has  silver'd  o'er  thy  head, 

When  memory  fails,  and  all  thy  vigour's  fled. 

Then  mayvSt  thou  seek  the  stillness  of  retreat, 
,    Then  hear  ahuif  the  human  tempest  beat; 

Then  will  I  greet  thee  to  my  woodland  cave, 

Allay  the  pangs  of  age,  and  smooth  thy  grave. 

*  One  of  tlic  aecuger*  of  Socralea. 


FIN13. 


coNTsnrrs. 

PART  I. 
PIECES  IN  PROSE. 

CHAPTER  r.  ^ag». 

Stlect  Sentences  and  Paragrapht,       -        ■»        •        2$ 
CHAPTER  U. 
'      Narrative  Pieces. 
00e<   ]«  No  rank  or  posseEsions  can  make  the  guilty  mind  happj,  ;        44 

2.  Change  of  external  condition  oftcu  adverse  10  virtue,  »•        -    45 

3.  Haman ;  or  the  misery  of  pride,        -        -        .        -        ,  47 

4.  Lady  Jane  Gray,  ------•••4!) 

5.  Ortogrul ;  or  the  vanity  of  riches,      -        -        -        -        •        -        52 

6.  The  hill  of  science,        ------..,54 

7.  The  journey  of  a  day  ;  a  picture  of  human  life,         -       -       -        5d 

CHAPTER  in. 

Didactic  Pieces. 

BtcL  1.  The  Importance  of  a  good  education,  -        -        -       ,        -    61 

2.  On  gratitude,      -------,-.64 

3.  On  forgivenofifl,  -----.        ,-_65 

4.  Motives  to  the  practice  of  gentlonesg,        -        -        -        •        •        67 

5.  A  suspicious  temper  tJie  Bource  of  miHcry  \.o  its  posaessor,     -        -    f)8 

6.  Comforts  of  religion,  -        -        -*-        -        -        -        -        69 

7.  Diltidftnce  of  our  abilities  a  mark  of  wisdom,        -        •        -        -    "JO 

8.  On  the  importance  of  order  in  tiie  distribution  of  our  lime,       •        71 

9.  Tlje  dignity  of  virtue  amidst  corrupt  examples,     -        -        -        -    74 

10.  The  mortifications  of  vice  greater  than  those  of  virtue,      -        -        75 

11.  On  contentment,    -        -        -        --        -        -        -        •        -77 

12.  Rank  and  riches  afford  no  ground  for  envy,        -        -        -        -        80 

13.  Patience  under  provocations  our  interest  as  well  afl  duly,       -        -    81 

14.  Moderation  in  our  wishes  recommended,  -        -        -        -        fi3 
I&.  Omniscience  and  omnipresence  of  the  iJeity,  the  source  of  coneo- 

Utioo  to  good  men, --86 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Argumentative  Pieces. 

8tc<.  1.  Happiness  is  fotmdcd  in  rectitude  of  conduct,  -        -        -        80 

2.  Virtue  man's  highest  interest,        -        -  -        -        -    M 

3.  The  injustice  of  an  uncharitable  spirit,      -  •        -        •        91 
4-  The  misfortunes  of  men  mostly  chargeable  on  themiolrc*,  -    §3 
5.  On  disinterested  friendship,        -----                 -        90 

6>  Oa  llio  immortality  of  the  soul,      -------99 

CHAPTER  V. 

Descriptive  Pieces. 

S««t  1.  The  seasons,    ----------  1(W 

8.  The  cataract  of  Niagara,  in  Canada,  North  America,        *        -  104 

3.  Grotto  of  Antiparos,        --------  IW 

4.  The  grotto  of  Antiparos,  continued,            .        .        -        -        -  i(J7 

5.  Earthquake  at  Catanea,           _-..-.-  108 

6.  Creation, 109 

7.  Charity, 110 

8.  Pit)Bpority  is  redou^jled  t©  a  good  man,        -        -        -        -        -  111 
0,  On  tlie  beauties  of  the  Psalms,          -        -        -        -        -        -112 

10.  Cliaracter  of  Alfred,  king  of  England^        -        ...        -  114 

11.  Character  of  dueen  Eliiaboth,         -        -        -        -        •        -  115 

12.  Oo  lli6  riavery  of  vice,  -        -        -        -•        -        -        -  117 

13.  The  man  of  iiit^f  rity,       -•-«»•--  118 
M  G«nU««»8, -  119 


8Ctt  ~  CONTENTS- 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Pathetic  Pieces, 
B«et.  1.  Trial  and  execution  of  ihe  Earl  of  Strafford,        .       .       •        .    MS 
^  An  eminent  instanco  of  true  fortitude  of  mind,        •        -        •        |24 

3.  The  good  man's  comfort  in  affliction,  -        •        •        -        »    125 

4.  The  close  of  life, 7-IM 

Jy.  Exalted  society,  and  the  renewal  of  virtuotu  connoetions,  two 

sources  of  future  felicity,  .„----•-        128 
G.  The  clemency  and  amiable  character  of  tho  patriarch  Joseph,  ]29 

7.  AUamont, ----138 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Dialogues, 

feet.  1.  Pemocrltus  and  Heraclltus,      --....-        )35 

2.  Dionysius,  Pythias,  and  Damon,  .-..--    137 

3.  Locke  and  Bayle,    -----•.        |40 

CHAPTER  Vni. 
rublic  Speeches. 
tkicL  1.  Cicero  agfainstVerres,  -----.-.    I49 

2.  Speech  of  Adhcrbal  to  the  Roman  Senate,  imploring  their  protec- 
tion against  Jugurtha,        .----_-        1.5) 
Jt  The  Aposilc  Paul's  noble  dcWmre  before  Festus  and  Agrippa    •    154 

4.  Lord  Mansfield's  speech  in  the  House  of  Lords,  3770,  on  t4ie  bill 

for  preventing  tlie  delays  of  justice,  by  claiming  tho  privilege 
of  parliament,  --_--..-        155 

fi.  An  address  to  young  persons,      -------    \Qi\ 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Pro7niscuovs  Pieces. 

B^ct.  1.  Earthquake  at  Calabria,  in  the  year  IG38,         -        -        -        -        jfiu 

t.  Letter  from  Pliny  to  Geminius,  ------    \qq 

'A.  Letter  from  Pliny  to  Marcellinus,  on  the  death  of  an  amiable  young 

woman,      ---------         .         |70 

4.  On  Discretion,      ---------,    171 

I  5.  On  the  government  of  our  thoughts,  -----        I74 

6.  On  the  evils  which  How  from  unrestrained  paesions,  -        •    178 

7.  On  the  proper  statr  of  our  temper,  with  respect  to  one  tDOtherj        17R 
ft.  Excellence  of  ilio  Holy  Scriptures,      ------    130 

9.  Reflections  occasioned  by  a  review  of  the  blessings,  pronounce4  by 

Christ  on  his  disciples,  in  his  sermon  on  the  mount,    -        -     181 
Vi.  Schemes  of  life  often  illusory,  ------        182 

11.  The  pleasures  of  virtuous  sensibility,  -----    135 

12.  On  the  true  honour  of  man,      -------        187 

13.  The  influence  of  devotion  on  the  happiness  of  life,  -  -  -  igj 
J4.  The  planetary  and  terrestrial  worlds  comparatively  considered,  191 
15.  On  the  power  of  ciistom,  and  the  uses  to  which  it  may  be  applied,  IM 
Jft.  The  pleasures  resulting  from  a  proper  use  of  our  facultiea.       -        198 

17.  Description  of  Candour,      --------     lfl7 

18.  On  the  imperfection  of  that  happiness  which  rests  solely  on  world- 

ly pleasures,      ---------        jgg 

19.  What  are  the  real  and  solid  enjoyments  of  human  life,         •        -    209 

20.  Scale  of  beings,        --.  --,.,        fjOf 

21.  Trust  In  the  care  of  Providence  recommended,     -        -        -        -    207 

22.  Piety  and  gratitude  enliven  prosperity,  -  -  -  -  2WI 
t3.  Virtue,  when  deeply  rooted,  is  not  subject  to  the  influence  of  fot- 

tune,  «.---.----Ji| 

W,  TUc  speech  of  FabriciuB,  a  Roman  ambassador,  to  kingPvrrhn*, 

who  attempted  to  bribe  him  to  his  interests,  by  the  ofler  of  • 

great  sum  of  money,     --        -        -        -        -        -        -    SIJ 

S5.  Cliarncter  of  James  I.  king  of  England,  -        -        -        -        2^4 

26.  CbarlM  V.  Emperor  of  Germany,  reeigM  his  dominiooft,  ftad  9» 

tiros  from  the  world,  -------        9IS 

f7.  The  tarae  subject  contiiraod,  •••<>.        '^    KKl 


Cf>5TKJ«T8.  908 

PART*  '^I 
PIECES  IN  POETRY. 

CfMPTE.n  r. 

Select  Sent:H:?s  and  Paragraphs 

8iCt.  1    Short  er.d  easy  pcntf  rices,          .......  1^93 

2.  VcrRC*  in  which  the  lines  are  of 'lifTeront  length,          ...  2g4 

9.  Verses  cuntaining  <}xc'n.tiiaticn:s,  intcriogations,  and  pareotlMSM,  233 

4.  Verses  in  various  forms,       -        -        -        -_-        -        -        .  227 

6.  Verses  in  winch  8<»urifl  corrcRponds  to  iiignification,          -        -  22B 

6w  Paragraphs  of  greater  kjiigih,      -----_.  231 

CHAPTER  II. 

J\''arrat.ive  Pieces. 

8«ct.  1.  The  bears  and  the  boos        ------..  233 

2.  Thenightingaio  iiitd  liie  glow  worm,          ---...  334 

8.  Tho  tnalt--  of  virtue,      ....                                    -        -  ib. 

4.  The  youth  and  tiic  jdiiloKupher,         ----..  23fi 

5.  Discourse  botwei-n  Adam  and  Eve  retiring  to  re«t,  ...  237 
0.  Roligioij  and  death, -  *^ 

rif.M'TER  ni. 

Jhdactic  Pieces. 

Sect.  1.  The  vanity  of  wealth, 34« 

5.  Nothing  formed  in  vain,     ---.-...  \\^ 

8.  On  pride, 54.1 

4.  Cruelty  to  brutos  censured.        .----..  ^44 

6.  A  paraphrase  on  tlie  latter  pari  of  the  6th  chap,  of  MattJMSw,       ♦  245 

6.  The  death  of  a  good  man  a  sir«ir.g  incentive  to  virtuo,      -         -  240 

7.  Reflections  on  a  future  fi;ifc.  fr<;ni  a  icview  of  vriater,  -  -  ib. 
8  Adam's  ad viie  to  Eve,  to  avoid  tenjjitation,  -  .  -  -  <M7 
0.  On  procrastination,       .         -         -         -         .                                      »  o^g 

10.  Thatphiiofiophy,  whicli  bf«>pK  at  Bccondnry  caufr.s,reprov(yi,     -  ^^ 

11.  indignant dCutiniCDlb  on  national  prejudice  and  haired  ;  and  on  sla- 

very, -        ...        -  -980 

ciiArTF.R  rv. 

Descriptive  Pieces. 

Boot].  The  morning  in  summer, 2M 

2,  Hural  souudb,  as  well  us  ru.-al  sights,  dchghtful,            -                 -  ih. 

2.  The  Rose, 253 

4.  Care  of  birds  for  their  yoiing,  ---...-  2.M 
6.  Liberty  and  slavery  contruhied,  --._,.  f^ 
6.  Charity.     A  iiiirup'hrase  on  the  13th  chap,  of  the  Plrst  Epwtk  lo 

the  Corinthians,     ----...--  SS5 

?    Picture  of  a  good  mun,      -        -        •        -        •        --        -     '  ^S^ 

f .  Tho  ploasurcB  of  retirement,        ---....  sag 

©.  Tko  pleasure  and  benefit  of  an  improved  and  well  directed  invagr- 

nation,       -.--------  j^o 

CHAPTER  V. 

Pathetic  Pieces. 

5i}ct.  1.  Tlie  VTermil, -  ZfH 

5.  Tho  Beggar's  Petition, 568 

3.  Unhappy  close  of  life,          --.-....  203 

4.  Elegy  to  Pity, ii> 

&  Versos  supposed  to  he  written  by  Alexander  Selkirk,  duriag  hif 

reoli!ary  abode  in  the  island  cf  Juan  Fernande«,         -  5204 

fi.  Oratitude,             ...                *M 

i.  A  man  perishing  in  the  unovf  \  frona  v^heiico  refieetlont  art  raised 

onthe  miserioeof  life,           ..,..-.  9ff7 

0  A  moraing  bynm              r       •       •               •       *       -        •  i^ 


•MrrsHTt. 

CHAPTER  Vh 
Prt/miMe^it«U4  Pieces, 

5.  The  Shepherd  and  t)io  Philosopher,      «        .        -        -        -  JPJI 

3.  Thoroad  to  haj)|)iuess  open  to  all  moB,    -        -  •  -*-  -        S73 

4.  Th«  j»odnes8  of  Providenc«,        -        -        -        -        .  -    2T4 

5.  Tiw>  Creator's  works  attest  hia  greutness,          -  ,        ."  -        374 

«.  Address  to  the  Deity, .-  -ifc. 

7.  The  panuit  of  Ijappineaa  often  ill  directed         -  .        .  .        377 
P.  Thcfiro  sJdo,         -_-...-...    fij% 

9.  Prori<Ieneo  vindicated  in  tJic  present  state  ©f  xiMtn,            -  •        2W 

JO.  Sclfishneea  reproved,     ------.--     2^ 

11.  Haman  fpailty, -283 

12.  Ode  to  Peace, 283 

13>  Ode  to  Adversity,    ---------         i^b 

34.  The  Creation  required  to  praise  its  Author,  ....    284 

15.  The  universal  prayer,        -----.-.        288 

Jf>.  Conacieoce, ---.!2S8 

17.  Oq  on  infant,  «---,.•„.  ij,_ 

la  The  Cuckoo, _..    *  -    '   -    289 

IS.  Day.  A  pastoral,  in  thro*  parts,  -«-•*-  ib. 
£0.  The  order  of  nature,  ----••-..•  292 
SI.  Hymn  composed  during  8ickB«w,  «  -  -  2  "  t  2W 
SS.  Hymn  on  a  review  ©f  ibe  leasonsi  *  -  •  S  -  "  •  21M 
tt.  On  Solitude,     -       .-       -       :'•       ^       '  '    r        _»• 


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